
i: : l:!i 







. 


i'lj .! 'i'j , }{ 1 ; ' 

' v , « . ,. i, » , , • ; t i •| • i 


'it •.|r ..j , 1 



I#} f iM • • | 1 i | • ( , 11 1 } , . i | jl Jii4. .*.>#•* 


' | • ’ ' i ' « 


. JfiJln. t , . if 

. k 

1 if*■ i 1, .i. . iirr/im if 

Iwf 4 < ! 1*('' 

j' i 11. i f r »*«UI 
















COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 











































































. 

' 


























































* 





t 




I 


/ 















\ 





















CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


Alton of Somasco 
Lorimer of the Northwest 
Thurston of Orchard Valley 
Winston of the Prairie 
The Gold Trail 
Sydney Carteret, Rancher 
A Prairie Courtship 
Vane of the Timberlands 
The Long Portage 
Ranching for Sylvia 
Prescott of Saskatchewan 
The Dust of Conflict 
The Greater Power 
Masters of the Wheatlands 
Delilah of the Snows 
By Right of Purchase 
The Cattle Baron’s Daughter 
Thrice Armed 
For Jacinta 
The Intriguers 
The League of the Leopard 
For the Allinson Honor 
The Secret of the Reef 
Harding of Allenwood 
The Coast of Adventure 
















C A R M E N’S 
MESSENGER 



















Copyright, IQ17 , by 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 


All rights reserved 


S' 

MAY 21 1917 

©CI.A467050 



CHAPTER 

I. 

CONTENTS 

Featherstone Changes His Plans 

PAGE 

I 

II. 

The Mill-Owner . 


II 

III. 

Foster Makes a Promise 


20 

IV. 

The First Adventure 


• 30 

V. 

Featherstone’s People . 


40 

VI. 

His Comrade’s Story 


• So 

VII. 

The Packet .... 


62 

VIII. 

An Offer of Help . 


• 73 

IX. 

The False Trail . . . 


• 83 

X. 

The Drove Road . 


. 92 

XI. 

The Poachers .... 


102 

XII. 

A Complication . . . 


• 113 

XIII. 

Foster Returns to the Garth 

. 123 

XIV. 

Foster Sees a Light . 


• 134 

XV. 

The Glove . 


• 145 

XVI. 

A Difficult Part . 


• 154 

XVII. 

The Letters .... 


164 

XVIII. 

Spadeadam Waste 


• 175 

XIX. 

Alice’s Confidence . . 


. 186 

XX. 

The Right Track . . . 


. 197 

XXI. 

Daly Takes Alarm . . 


208 







vi CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII. Carmen Gets a Shock.217 

XXIII. An Unexpected Meeting . . . . 228 

XXIV. Lawrence’s Story.240 

XXV. Foster Sets Off Again .253 

XXVI. The Real-Estate Agent .... 266 

XXVII. The Mine.277 

XXVIII. The Log Bridge.288 

XXIX. Foster Arrives.300 

XXX. Run Down.311 

XXXI. Daly Solves the Puzzle . . . . 321 

XXXII. Featherstone Apologizes .... 333 















CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


i 

FEATHERSTONE CHANGES HIS PLANS 

I T was getting dark, and a keen wind blew across the 
ragged pines beside the track, when Jake Foster 
walked up and down the station at Gardner’s Crossing 
in North Ontario. Winter was moving southwards 
fast across the wilderness that rolled back to Hudson’s 
Bay, silencing the brawling rivers and calming the 
stormy lakes, but the frost had scarcely touched the 
sheltered valley yet and the roar of a rapid throbbed 
among the trees. The sky had the crystal clearness 
that is often seen in northern Canada, but a long trail 
of smoke stretched above the town, and the fumes of 
soft coal mingled with the aromatic smell of the pines. 
Gardner’s Crossing stood, an outpost of advancing 
industry, on the edge of the lonely woods. 

The blue reflections of big arc-lamps quivered be¬ 
tween the foam-flakes on the river, a line of bright 
spots, stretching back along the bank, marked new 
avenues of wooden houses, and, across the bridge, the 
tops of tall buildings cut against the glow that shim¬ 
mered about the town. At one end rose the great 
block of the Hulton factory, which lost something of 
its utilitarian ugliness at night. Its harsh, rectangular 

i 


2 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


outline faded into the background of forest, and the 
rows of glimmering windows gave it a curious trans¬ 
parent look. It seemed to overflow with radiance and 
filled the air with rumbling sound. 

In a large measure, Gardner’s Crossing owed its 
rapid development to the enterprise of the Hulton 
Manufacturing Company. Hulton was ready to make 
anything out of lumber for which his salesmen found 
a demand; but his firm grip on the flourishing business 
had recently relaxed, and people wondered anxiously 
what would happen if he did not recover from the blow 
that had struck him down. Fred Hulton, his only son, 
and assistant treasurer to the Company, had been 
found in the factory one morning with a bullet-hole in 
his head, and it was believed that he had shot him¬ 
self. His father gave his evidence at the inquiry with 
stern self-control, but took to his bed afterwards and 
had not left it yet. So far as the townsfolk knew, this 
was the first time he had shown any weakness of body 
or mind. 

The train was late, but Foster enjoyed the pipe he 
lighted. It was ten years since he landed at Montreal, 
a raw lad without friends or money, and learned what 
hard work was in a lumber camp. Since then he had 
prospered, and the strenuous life he led for the first 
few years had not left much mark on him. Now he 
thought he had earned a holiday, and all arrangements 
for his visit to England were made. Featherstone, 
his partner, was going with him. Their sawmill, which 
was run by water-power, had closed for the winter, 
when building material was not wanted, and the devel¬ 
opment of a mineral claim they owned would be 
stopped by the frost. They had planned to put in a 


FEATHERSTONE CHANGES PLANS 3 

steam engine at the mill, but the Hulton Company 
had delayed a contract that would have kept the saws 
running until the river thawed. 

Foster, however, did not regret this. Except on 
Sundays, he had seldom had an hour’s leisure for the 
last few years. Gardner’s Crossing, which was raw 
and new, had few amusements to offer its inhabitants; 
he was young, and now he could relax his efforts, felt 
that he was getting stale with monotonous toil. But 
he was a little anxious about Featherstone, who had 
gone to see a doctor in Toronto. 

A whistle rang through the roar of the rapid and a 
fan-shaped beam of light swung round a bend in the 
track. Then the locomotive bell began to toll, and 
Foster walked past the cars as they rolled into the 
station. He found Featherstone putting on a fur coat 
at a vestibule door, and gave him a keen glance as he 
came down the steps. He thought his comrade looked 
graver than usual. 

“Well,” he said, “how did you get on?” 

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s get home, but stop at 
Cameron’s drug store for a minute.” 

Foster took his bag and put it in a small American 
car. He drove slowly across the bridge and up the 
main street of the town, because there was some traf¬ 
fic and light wagons stood in front of the stores. Then 
as he turned in towards the sidewalk, ready to pull up, 
he saw a man stop and fix his eyes on the car. The 
fellow did not live at the Crossing, but visited it now 
and then, and Foster had met him once when he called 
at the sawmill. J 

“Drive on,” said Featherstone, touching his arm. 

Although he was somewhat surprised, Foster did 


4 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


as he was told, and when they had passed a few blocks 
Featherstone resumed: “I can send down the pre¬ 
scription to-morrow. That was Daly on the sidewalk 
and I didn’t want to meet him.” 

A minute later Foster stopped to avoid a horse that 
was kicking and plunging outside a livery stable while 
a crowd encouraged its driver with ironical shouts. 
Looking round, he thought he saw Daly following 
them, but a man ran to the horse’s head and Foster 
seized the opportunity of getting past. 

“What did the doctor tell you ?” he asked. 

“He was rather disappointing,” Featherstone re¬ 
plied, and turned up the deep collar of his coat. 

Foster, who saw that his comrade did not want to 
talk, imagined that he had got something of a shock. 
When they left the town, however, the jolting of the 
car made questions difficult and he was forced to mind 
his steering while the glare of the headlamps flickered 
across deep holes and ruts. Few of the dirt roads 
leading to the new Canadian cities are good, but the 
one they followed, though roughly graded, was worse 
than usual and broke down into a wagon trail when 
it ran into thick bush. For a time, the car lurched 
and labored like a ship at sea up and down hillocks 
and through soft patches, and Foster durst not lift his 
eyes until a cluster of lights twinkled among the trees. 
Then with a sigh of relief he ran into the yard of a 
silent sawmill and they were at home. 

Supper was waiting, and although Foster opened a 
letter he found upon the table, neither of the men said 
anything of importance during the meal. When it 
was over, Featherstone sat down in a big chair by the 
stove, for the nights were getting cold. He was about 


FEATHERSTONE CHANGES PLANS 5 

thirty years of age, strongly built, and dressed in 
city clothes, but his face was pinched. For part of 
the summer, he and Foster had camped upon their 
new mineral claim in the bush and worked hard to 
prove the vein. June, as often happens in Canada, 
was a wet month, and although Featherstone was used 
to hardship, he sickened with influenza, perhaps in 
consequence of digging in heavy rain and sleeping in 
wet clothes. As he was nothing of a valetudinarian he 
made light of the attack, but did not get better as soon 
as he expected on his return, and went to see the 
Toronto doctor, when Foster urged him. 

The latter lighted his pipe and looked about the 
room. It was warm and well lighted, and the furni¬ 
ture, which was plain but good, had been bought, piece 
by piece, to replace ruder articles they had made at 
the mill. One or two handsome skins lay upon the 
uncovered floor, and the walls were made of varnished 
cedar boards. A gun-rack occupied a corner, and the 
books on a shelf indicated that their owners had some 
literary taste, though there were works on mining 
and forestry. Above the shelf, the huge head of a 
moose, shot on a prospecting journey to the North, 
hung between the smaller heads of bear and caribou. 

Foster, who had hitherto lived in tents and shacks, 
remembered his misgivings when they built the house. 
Indeed, he had grumbled that it might prove a danger¬ 
ous locking up of capital that was needed for the 
enlargement of the mill. Featherstone, however, in¬ 
sisted, and since most of the money was his, Foster 
gave in; but they had prospered since then. They 
were good friends, and had learned to allow for each 
other’s point of view during several years of strenu- 


6 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


ous toil and stern economy. Still, Foster admitted 
that their success was not altogether due to their own 
efforts, because once or twice, when they had to face a 
financial crisis, the situation was saved by a check 
Featherstone got from home. By and by the latter 
turned to his comrade. 

“Your letter was from Hulton, wasn’t it? What 
does he want ?” 

“He doesn’t state, but asks us to call at the factory 
to-morrow evening. That’s all, but I heard in town 
that the doctor and nurse had left; Cameron told me 
Hulton fired them both because they objected to his 
getting up.” 

“It’s possible,” Featherstone agreed. “Hulton’s 
not the man to bother about his health or etiquette 
when he wants to do a thing. Anyhow, as he has been 
a pretty good friend of ours, we will have to go, but 
I wouldn’t have imagined he’d have been ready to talk 
about the tragedy just yet.” 

“You think that is what he wants to talk about?” 

Featherstone nodded. “We knew Fred Hulton bet¬ 
ter than anybody at the Crossing, and at the inquiry 
I tried to indicate that his death was due to an acci¬ 
dent. I imagined that Hulton was grateful. It’s true 
that I don’t see how the accident could have happened, 
but I don’t believe Fred shot himself. Though it was 
an open verdict, you and I and Hulton are perhaps 
the only people who take this view.” 

“We’ll let it drop until to-morrow. What did you 
learn at Toronto?” 

“Perhaps the most important thing was that I’ll 
have to give up my trip to the Old Country.” 

“Ah,” said Foster, who waited, trying to hide his 


FEATHERSTONE CHANGES PLANS 7 

disappointment and alarm, for he saw that his sus¬ 
picions about his partner’s health had been correct. 

“The doctor didn’t think it wise; said something 
about England’s being too damp, and objected to a 
winter voyage,” Featherstone resumed. “It looks as 
if you were better at calculating the profit on a lumber 
deal than diagnosing illness, because while you doc¬ 
tored me for influenza, it was pneumonia I had. How¬ 
ever, I admit that you did your best and you needn’t 
feel anxious. It seems I’m not much the worse, 
though I’ll have to be careful for the next few months, 
which I’m to spend on the Pacific slope, California for 
choice. It’s a bit of a knock, but can’t be helped.” 

Foster declared his sympathy, but Featherstone 
stopped him. “There’s another matter; that fellow 
Daly’s here again. I expect you guessed what he 
came for the last time?” 

“I did. The bank-book showed you drew a rather 
large sum.” 

“No doubt you thought it significant that the check 
was payable to myself?'’ 

Foster was silent for a moment or two. He trusted 
his comrade, but suspected that there was something 
in his past history that he meant to hide. For one 
thing, Featherstone never spoke about his life in the 
Old Country, and Foster was surprised when he stated 
his intention of spending a few months there. It 
looked as if Daly knew his secret and had used his 
knowledge to blackmail him. 

“I’ll go to California with you,” he said. “One 
place is as good as another for a holiday, and I’m 
really not keen on going home. I’ve no near relations 
and have lost touch with my friends.” 


8 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


“No,” said Featherstone, with a grateful look. “I 
want you to go to England and stay with my people. 
I haven’t said much about them, but you’ll find they 
will do their best to make things pleasant. Anyhow, 
it’s time you knew that I left home in serious trouble 
and meant to stop away until I thought the cause of it 
forgotten. Well, not long ago, I heard that the man 
I’d injured was dead, but had sent me word that-as I 
had, no doubt, paid for my fault in this country, I’d, 
nothing more to fear. Then Daly got upon my track.” 

Foster nodded sympathetically. “How much does 
he know ?” 

“Enough to be dangerous, but I don’t know how he 
learned it and don’t mean to keep on buying him off. 
Now I want you to go home and tell my people what 
we’re doing; if you can give them the impression that 
I’ve, so to speak, made good in Canada, so much the 
better. This is not entirely for my sake, but because it 
might be a relief to them. You see, they’ve had to 
suffer something on my account and felt my disgrace, 
but, although I deserved it, they wouldn’t give me up.” 

“Very well,” said Foster, “I’ll do as you wish.” 

He knocked out and re-filled his pipe, as an excuse 
for saying nothing more, because he was somewhat 
moved. He guessed that Featherstone had not found 
it easy to take him into his confidence, and felt that he 
had atoned for his errors in the past. Still, there was 
a point he was doubtful about. His comrade had a 
well-bred air, and Foster imagined that his people 
were rich and fastidious. 

“I’m not sure your relatives will enjoy my visit,” 
he resumed after a time. “My father and mother 
died when I was young, and I was sent to a second-rate 


FEATHERSTONE CHANGES PLANS 9 

school and kept there by an uncle who wanted to get 
rid of me. Then I’d a year or two in a merchant’s 
office and cheap lodgings, and when I’d had enough 
of both came out to Canada with about five pounds. 
You know how I’ve lived here.” 

Featherstone gave him an amused glance. “You 
needn’t let that trouble you. It’s curious, but the bush 
seems to bring out the best that’s in a man. I can’t 
see why getting wet and half frozen, working four¬ 
teen hours a day, and often going without your dinner, 
should have a refining influence, but it has. " Besides, 
I’m inclined to think you have learned more in the 
Northwest than they could have taught you at an 
English university. Anyhow, you’ll find my people 
aren’t hard to please.” 

“When are you going to California?” Foster, who 
felt half embarrassed, asked. 

“Let’s fix Thursday next, and I’ll start with you.” 

“But I’m going east, and your way’s by Van¬ 
couver.” 

“Just so,” said Featherstone dryly. “For all that, 
I think I’ll start east, and then get on to a west-bound 
train at a station down the line. The folks at the 
Crossing know I’m going home, and I don’t want to 
put Daly on my track.” He smoked in silence for a 
few moments, and then added: “I wonder whether 
Austin helped the fellow to get after me?” 

Foster looked up with surprise, but admitted that 
his partner might be right. Austin was a real-estate 
agent who now and then speculated in lumber and 
mineral claims. He had some influence at the Cross¬ 
ing where, however, he was more feared than liked, 
since he lent money and bought up mortgages. On 


io 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


three or four occasions he had been a business rival 
of Foster and Featherstone’s, and the former thought 
he might not have forgiven them for beating him. 

"It's possible,” he said thoughtfully. “But you 
don’t imagine Daly told him what he knows about 
you?” 

“I should think it most unlikely,” Featherstone 
rejoined. “Daly means to keep all he can get for him¬ 
self, but if he gave Austin a hint that he could injure 
me, the fellow might be willing to help. He’s pretty 
often up against us; but we’ll let that go. You’re a 
friend of Carmen Austin’s, and as you’ll meet her at 
the reunion, it might be better if you didn’t tell her 
I have changed my plans. Of course, I don’t mean 
to hint that she has anything to do with her father’s 
schemes.” 

Foster laughed. He liked Carmen Austin and was 
mildly flattered by the favor she showed him, but 
thought he knew her well enough not to attach much 
importance to this. Carmen was clever and ambitious, 
and would, no doubt, choose a husband who had wealth 
and influence. Though very young, she was the ac¬ 
knowledged leader of society at the Crossing. 

“You needn’t be afraid of hurting my feelings,” he 
said. “To some extent I do enjoy Miss Austin’s pa¬ 
tronage, but I know my drawbacks and don’t cherish 
any foolish hopes. If I did, I believe she’d tactfully 
nip them in the bud.” 

“On the whole, I’m pleased to hear it,” Feather- 
stone replied. “Now, if you don’t mind, there’s some¬ 
thing I want to read.” - 


II 


THE MILL-OWNER 

B IG arc-lamps flared above the railroad track that 
crossed the yard of the Hulton factory, but ex¬ 
cept for a yellow glimmer from a few upper windows, 
the building rose in a huge dark oblong against the 
sky. The sharp clanging of a locomotive bell jarred 
on the silence, for the mill hands had gone home and 
the wheels that often hummed all night were still. It 
seemed to Foster, who glanced at his watch as he 
picked his way among the lines, that the shadow of the 
recent tragedy brooded over the place. 

“I don’t know that I’m imaginative; but I wouldn’t 
like the night-watchman’s job just now,” he remarked 
to Featherstone. “Hulton’s illness can’t have spoiled 
his nerve, or he’d have asked us to meet him at his 
house, in view of what he probably wants to talk 
about.” 

“I suspect that Hulton’s nerve is better than yours 
or mine, and although I’m sorry for the old man, ft 
was a surprise to me when he broke down,” Feather- 
stone replied. “This is the first time I’ve been in the 
mill since Fred was shot, and I’ll own that I’d sooner 
have come in daylight.” 

They went round a row of loaded cars to the time¬ 
keeper’s office, where a man told them that Hulton 
was waiting and they were to go right up. A dark 

ii 


12 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


passage, along which their footsteps echoed, led to a 
flight of stairs, and they felt there was something 
oppressive in the gloom, but a small light burned near 
the top of the building, and when they reached a 
landing Featherstone touched his partner. It was at 
this spot Fred Hulton had been found lying on the 
floor, with a fouled pistol of a make he was known to 
practice with near his hand. Foster shivered as he 
noted the cleanness of the boards. It indicated care¬ 
ful scrubbing, and was somehow more daunting than 
a sign of what had happened there. 

A short flight of stairs led to the offices of the head 
of the firm, and the treasurer, whose assistant Fred 
Hulton had been. They went on and entered a small, 
plainly-furnished room, well lighted by electric lamps, 
where Hulton sat at a writing-table and signed them 
to sit down. His shoulders were bent, his clothes hung 
slackly on his powerful frame, and Featherstone 
thought his hair had grown whiter since he saw him 
last. He looked ill, but his face was hard and resolute, 
and when he let his eyes rest on the young men his 
mouth was firmly set. Hulton’s business acumen and 
tenacity were known, and it was supposed that the 
latter quality had helped him much in the earlier part 
of his career. The other man, who sat close by, was 
the treasurer, Percival. 

“To begin with, I want to thank you for the way 
you gave your evidence,” Hulton said to Featherstone, 
who had been one of the last to see Fred Hulton alive. 

“I don’t know that thanks are needed,” Feather¬ 
stone replied. “I had promised to tell the truth.” 

“Just so. The truth, however, strikes different peo¬ 
ple differently, and you gave the matter the most 


THE MILL-OWNER 


13 

favorable look you could. We’ll let it go at that. I 
suppose you’re still convinced my son was in his usual 
health and spirits? Mr. Percival is in my confidence, 
and we can talk without reserve.” 

“Yes, sir; I never found him morbid; and he was 
cheerful when I saw him late that night.” 

“In fact, you were surprised when you heard what 
happened soon after you left?” Hulton suggested in 
a quiet voice. 

“I was shocked. But, if I catch your meaning, I 
was puzzled afterwards, and had better say I see no 
light yet.” 

“Is this how you feel about it?” Hulton asked 
Foster. 

“It is,” said Foster, noting the man’s stern calm, 
and Hulton turned to Percival. 

“That’s my first point! These men knew my son.” 

Then he looked at Featherstone. “Fred went with 
you now and then on hunting and prospecting trips, 
and that probably led to a certain intimacy. You 
say he was never morbid; did you ever find him 
anxious or disturbed ?” 

Featherstone pondered. Fred Hulton, who was 
younger, had spent a year or two in Europe before 
he entered the factory. He had moreover told Feather¬ 
stone about some trouble he had got into there, but 
the latter could not tell how much his father knew. 

“You can talk straight,” Hulton resumed. “I guess 
I won’t be shocked.” 

“Very well. I did find him disturbed once or twice. 
Perhaps you knew he had some difficulties in Paris.” 

“I knew about the girl,” Hulton answered grimly. 
“I found that put not long since; she was a clever 


H 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


adventuress. But I don’t know where Fred got the 
money he sent her. Did you lend it him?” 

“I lent him some,” Featherstone admitted, hesitat¬ 
ingly. “He told me afterwards she had promised to 
make no further claim, and I understand she kept her 
word.” 

Hulton turned to the treasurer. “You will see Mr. 
Featherstone about this to-morrow. I’ve cleared up 
another point; Fred was not being urged to send more 
money.” Then he asked Foster: “Do you know if 
he had any other dangerous friends ?” 

“There was Daly. They were friends, in a way, 
and I wouldn’t trust the fellow. Still, I don’t know 
how far his influence went, and imagine Fred hadn’t 
much to do with him for some months. Besides, Daly 
wasn’t at the Crossing when-” 

Hulton said nothing for the next few moments and 
Foster mused. Fred Hulton had been very likable, in 
spite of certain weaknesses, and he thought it cost his 
father something to talk about him as he did. Hulton, 
however, seldom showed what he felt and would, no 
doubt, take the line he thought best with a stoic disre¬ 
gard of the pain it might cause. He rested his elbow 
on the table, as if he were tired, and sat very quiet 
with his chin on his hand, until he asked Featherstone: 

“Why did you lend Fred the money he sent the 
girl?” 

“For one thing, because he was my friend,” Feather¬ 
stone answered with a flush. “Then I knew into what 
straits the need of money can drive a young man. I 
got into trouble myself some years ago.” 

Hulton nodded. “Thank you. You helped him 



THE MILL-OWNER 


15 


out. You have no ground to think he was em¬ 
barrassed by the need of money on the night he died?” 

“I feel sure he was not. He kept me some time 
talking cheerfully about a hunting trip we meant to 
make.” 

“Well,” said Hulton quietly, “you’re going to be 
surprised now. I did not give my evidence as frankly 
as you claim to have done, but kept something back. 
Mr. Percival was away for two or three weeks, and 
Fred was the only person besides myself who knew 
the combination that opens the safe. On the morning 
after we found him dead I examined the safe. A 
number of bonds and a wad of small bills for wages 
had gone. It was significant that Percival was due 
back next day.” 

Featherstone started, but his face was hot with 
scornful anger. 

“That had no significance! I’d as soon suspect 
myself or my partner of stealing the bonds, but the 
safe’s being open throws a new light upon the thing. 
Somebody you haven’t thought of yet knew or found 
out the combination.” 

“Then, in face of what you have heard, you do not 
believe my son fired the shot that took his life?” 

“No, sir,” said Featherstone, with quiet earnestness. 
“I never thought it, and it is impossible to believe it 
now.” 

“My partner’s opinion’s mine,” Foster broke in. 

Hulton looked from one to the other and a curious 
steely glitter came into his eyes. It hinted at a pitiless, 
unchangeable purpose, and bracing himself with an 
effort he clenched his fist. 

“Nor do I believe it! If necessary, I’ll let my busi- 


i6 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


ness and factory go and spend the last dollar I’ve 
got to find the man who killed my boy.” 

Next moment he sank limply back in his chair, as 
if the strain and vindictive emotion, reacting on his 
physical weakness, had overcome him, and there was 
silence until he recovered. Foster felt it something 
of a relief that the man’s icy self-control had broken 
down. 

“Very well,” Hulton resumed in a shaky voice. “I 
brought you here because you knew my son and I 
wanted your support. Then I meant to convince Per- 
cival, whose help I may need to clear the boy’s good 
name. We’ll let that go and try to be practical.” 

“Were the bonds negotiable?” Foster asked. “Could 
they be easily sold?” 

Percival, who was about fifty years of age and had 
a reserved manner, answered: “Some were bearer 
bonds, and, if the thief acted quickly, would be as good 
as cash. Most, however, were registered stock, and it 
is probable that he would be afraid to sell them in 
Canada or America. The transfers would require to 
be forged.” 

“What about Europe ?” 

“That is where the danger lies. If he had clever 
confederates, a large part of the value of the bonds 
could be borrowed from a bank, or they might be sold 
to unsuspecting buyers on a French or German 
bourse.” 

“But this would depend on the publicity you gave 
their theft.” 

“Exactly,” Percival agreed with some dryness. “I 
have been trying to make Mr. Hulton recognize it.” 

Hulton’s tense look softened and he smiled. “Per* 


THE MILL-OWNER 


17 


cival seems to have forgotten that I am a business man. 
At the inquiry I shirked my duty by keeping something 
back, and now he expects me to brand my son’s good 
name. The money must go. In a sense, it is a trifling 
loss.” 

“At last, you put me wise,” said Percival. “But to 
prove that Fred was innocent you must find the thief.” 

“That’s so. It must be done with skill and tact by 
the best New York private investigation man that I 
can hire. The job’s too delicate for the regular 
police.” 

Featherstone, who had been sitting thoughtfully 
silent, looked up. “Perhaps it’s lucky the wage clerks 
went into the treasurer’s office after I left, though I 
spoke to the watchman, Jordan, as I went out.” 

“No,” said Percival sharply. “It wasn’t Jordan’s 
week on night-guard.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then Hulton 
asked: “Where did you meet the man you thought 
was Jordan? Did he answer you?” 

“He was going along the ground-floor passage in 
front of me, and the only light was in the pay-office 
at the end. He stood in the doorway as I passed and 
I said, Tt’s a cold night, Tom.’ I’d gone a few yards 
when he answered, Tt will be colder soon.’ ” 

“Then as you passed the door he must have seen 
your face, though you could not see his,” said Hulton, 
who turned to Percival. “Clark was on night-guard 
and his name’s not Tom. Where was he when Mr. 
Featherstone left?” 

“In the lathe-room at the other end of the build¬ 
ing. The punch in the check-clock shows it,” Percival 
replied. 


i8 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Hulton pondered, knitting his brows, before he said, 
“Since you thought the man was Jordan, you wouldn’t 
know him again.” 

“No; he was about Jordan’s height and build, but 
I only saw his figure. It showed dark and rather 
indistinct against the light.” 

“Well,” said Hulton, “you see the importance of 
this. We have something to go upon; a stranger was 
in the factory.” Then he got up with a look of keen 
relief in his worn face. “I thank you and your part¬ 
ner; you have given me hope. Some day all who 
knew my boy will believe what you believe. Now I 
have something to say to Percival, and then he must 
help me home to bed.” 

He shook hands with them and let them go. They 
left the factory in silence, but as they crossed the yard 
Foster remarked: “I’m sorry for Hulton. For all his 
quietness, he takes the thing very hard.” 

“I imagine the fellow who shot Fred Hulton will 
need your pity most,” Featherstone replied. “The 
old man will run him down with the determination and 
energy that helped him to build up his business. 
Money with brains behind it is a power, but I wouldn’t 
like Hulton on my track if he hadn’t a cent. There’s 
something relentless about the man.” He paused and 
resumed: “Well, he has a clew. It’s curious I didn’t 
think of mentioning before that I spoke to the watch¬ 
man, but I thought the fellow was Jordan. I wonder 
how the thief will get the bonds across to Europe.” 

“There would be some danger in carrying them; 
anyhow, he’d imagine so, although it looks as if Hul¬ 
ton doesn’t mean to tell the police much just yet. Of 


THE MILL-OWNER 


19 

course, there’s the mail, but the thief might be afraid 
to post the papers.” 

Featherstone nodded. “I think it’s in Hulton’s 
favor that he’ll be satisfied with one of the private 
detective agencies to begin with, while the man he’s 
looking for will be on his guard against the police. 
Besides, it’s possible that the fellow won’t take many 
precautions, since there’s a plausible explanation of 
Fred Hulton’s death.” 

“Do you think the man you passed saw you well 
enough to know you again 

“He may have done so.” 

“Then if he imagined that you saw him, it would 
make a difference,” Foster said thoughtfully. “He’d 
reckon that you were the greatest danger he had to 
guard against.” 

Featherstone stopped and caught his comrade’s arm 
as the yard locomotive pushed some cars along the 
track they were about to cross, and the harsh tolling 
of the bell made talking difficult. When the cars 
had passed they let the matter drop and went back to 
the hotel where they had left their automobile. 


Ill 


FOSTER MAKES A PROMISE 

T HERE was keen frost next evening and Foster 
drove to the Crossing without his comrade, 
who thought it wiser to stay at home. The reunion 
he was going to attend was held annually by one or 
two mutual-improvement societies that combined to 
open their winter sessions. It had originally begun 
with a lecture on art or philosophy, but had degen¬ 
erated into a supper and dance. Supper came early, 
because in Canada the meal is generally served about 
six o'clock. 

The wooden hall was decorated with flags and cedar 
boughs, and well filled with young men and women, 
besides a number of older citizens. The floor and 
music were good, and Foster enjoyed two dances 
before he met Carmen Austin. He had not sought 
her out, because she was surrounded by others, and 
he knew that if she wanted to dance with him she 
would let him know. It was generally wise to wait 
Carmen’s pleasure. 

When he left his last partner he stood in a quiet 
nook, looking about the hall. The girls were pretty 
and tastefully dressed, though generally paler than 
the young Englishwomen he remembered. The men 
were athletic, and their well-cut clothes, which fitted 
somewhat tightly, showed their finely developed but 
20 


FOSTER MAKES A PROMISE 


21 


rather lean figures. They had a virile, decided look, 
and an ease of manner that indicated perfect self- 
confidence. Indeed, some were marked by an air of 
smartness that was half aggressive. A large number 
were employed at the Hulton factory, but there were 
brown-faced farmers and miners from the bush, as 
well as storekeepers from the town. 

On the whole, their dress, manners and conversation 
were American, and Foster was sometimes puzzled 
by their inconsistency. He liked these people and got 
on well with them, but had soon discovered that in 
order to do so he must abandon his English habits and 
idiosyncrasies. His neighbors often showed a certain 
half-hostile contempt for the customs of the Old 
Country, and he admitted that had he been less ac¬ 
quainted with their character, it would have been 
easy to imagine that Gardner’s Crossing was situated 
in Michigan instead of Ontario. Yet they had re¬ 
jected the Reciprocity Treaty on patriotic grounds, 
and in a recent crisis had demonstrated their passion¬ 
ate approval of Britain’s policy. He had no doubt 
that if the need came they would offer the mother 
country the best they had with generous enthusiasm, 
and nobody knew better that their best was very good. 

By and by Carmen dismissed the young men around 
her and summoned him with a graceful motion of her 
fan. He crossed the floor, and when he stopped close 
by with a bow that was humorously respectful she 
gave him a cool, approving glance. Foster was 
twenty-eight, but looked younger. Though he had 
known hardship, his face was srhooth, and when un¬ 
occupied he had a good-humored and somewhat lan¬ 
guid air. He was tall and rather thin, but athletic 


22 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


toil had toughened and strengthened him, and he had 
frank gray eyes that generally smiled. A glove that 
looked significantly slack covered his left hand, which 
had been maimed by a circular saw when he worked 
in his mill. 

Carmen was a blonde, but with none of the softness 
that often characterizes this type of beauty. Her 
features were sharply cut, her well-proportioned figure 
was firmly lined, and the lack of color in her face 
was made up for by the keen sparkle in her eyes. As a 
rule, Carmen Austin’s wishes were carried out. She 
knew how to command, and rival beauties who now 
and then ventured to oppose her soon found that her 
power was unshakable. 

“You haven’t thought it worth while to ask for a 
dance yet,” she remarked, and Foster could not tell 
if she was offended or not. 

“No,” he replied, smiling, “I was afraid of getting 
a disappointment, since I didn’t know your plans, but 
only made a few engagements in case you sent for me. 
One finds it best to wait your orders.” 

Carmen studied him thoughtfully. “You generally 
take the proper line; sometimes I think you’re cleverer 
than you look. Anyway, one isn’t forced to explain 
things to you. Explaining what one wants is always 
annoying.” 

“Exactly. My business is to guess what you would 
like and carry it out as far as I can. When I’m right 
this saves you some trouble and gives me keen satis¬ 
faction. It makes me think I am intelligent.” 

“Our boys are a pretty good sample, but they don’t 
talk like that. I suppose you learned it in the Old 


FOSTER MAKES A PROMISE 23 

Country. You know, you’re very English, in some 
respects.” 

“Well,” said Foster, “that is really not my fault. 
I was born English, but I’ll admit that I’ve found it a 
drawback since I came to Canada.” 

Carmen indicated the chair next her. “You may 
sit down if you like. You start for the Old Country 
on Thursday, don’t you?” 

“Thank you; yes,” said Foster. “One likes to be 
in the fashion, and it’s quite the proper thing to make 
the trip when work’s finished for the winter. You find 
miners saving their wages to buy a ticket, and the 
Manitoba men sail across by dozens after a good har¬ 
vest. As they often maintain that the Old Country’s 
a back number, one wonders why they go.” 

“After all, I suppose they were born there.” 

“That doesn’t seem to count. As a rule, there’s 
nobody more Canadian first of all than the man who’s 
only a Canadian by adoption.” 

“Then why do you want to go?” 

“I can’t tell you. I had a hard life in England and, 
on the whole, was glad to get away. Perhaps it’s a 
homing instinct, like the pigeon’s, and perhaps it’s 
sentiment. We came out because nobody wanted us 
and have made ourselves pretty comfortable. Amer¬ 
ica’s our model and we have no use for English pat¬ 
ronage, but every now and then the pull comes and 
we long to go back, though we wouldn’t like to stop 
there. It’s illogical, but if there was trouble in Europe 
and the Old Country needed help, we’d all go across.” 

“In a mild way, the journey’s something of an 
adventure,” Carmen suggested. “Doesn’t that appeal 
to a man?” 


24 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“It does,” Foster agreed. “One might imagine that 
there was enough adventure here, but it really isn’t 
so. The lone trail has a mineral claim at the end of 
it; you look forward to the elevator company’s receipt 
when you break the new furrow. Hardship gets as 
monotonous as comfort; you want something fresh, 
a job, in fact, that you don’t undertake for money. 
Of course, if you look at it economically, this is fool¬ 
ish.” 

“I like you better as a sentimentalist than a philoso¬ 
pher,” Carmen answered. “It’s the former one goes 
to when one wants things done. However, if you 
would like a dance-” 

She danced well and Foster knew there were men in 
the hall who envied him. He, moreover, imagined 
that Carmen knew it would be remarked that she had 
banished her other attendants and shown him special 
favor. This, of course, would not trouble her, because 
Carmen generally did what she pleased, but he felt in¬ 
clined to wonder about her object. He knew her well 
enough to think she had an object. When the music 
stopped she said, “Now you may take me in to supper.” 

Supper was served in an ante-room, but, although 
this was contrary to local custom, the guests came in 
when they liked and were provided with small, sep¬ 
arate tables. Instead of Foster’s leading, Carmen 
guided him to a quiet nook, partly screened by cedar 
branches, where they could see without being seen. 
He thought it significant that a spot with such ad¬ 
vantages should be unoccupied, but this did not cause 
him much surprise. Things generally happened as 
Carmen wanted, and it was a privilege to sup with the 
prettiest and cleverest girl in the hall. 



FOSTER MAKES A PROMISE 25 

“You are going to stay at Featherstone’s home in 
England, aren’t you?” she asked by and by. 

“Yes,” said Foster, who wondered how she knew. 
“Since I’ve spent ten years on the plains and in the 
bush, it will be a rather embarrassing change. You 
see, I’m better used to bachelor shacks and logging 
camps than English country houses.” 

Carmen firmly brought him back to the subject. 
“Do you know much about your partner’s relatives? 
It’s obvious that he belongs to a good family. How¬ 
ever, you’ll have him with you.” 

Foster smiled. He did not mean to tell her that 
Featherstone was not going with him. 

“I know nothing about them. In fact, my igno¬ 
rance of the habits of a good family rather weighs on 
my mind.” 

Carmen gave him a level, critical glance. “They 
won’t be able to find much fault with you, and if they 
did, you wouldn’t guess it, so it wouldn’t matter. But 
that is not what I meant. You have been Feather- 
stone’s partner for some time, and it’s curious that he 
has told you nothing about his home.” 

“He’s reserved,” said Foster, who looked up as 
Daly came into the room with a laughing girl, at whom. 
Carmen glanced somewhat coldly. “Do you know 
what that man is doing here?” 

“I don’t, but as he’s agent for an engineering com¬ 
pany, I dare say he’s looking for orders. Hulton’s 
are buying new plant.” 

“But he’s often in your father’s office and at your 
house, and Mr. Austin doesn’t buy machines.” 

“Then perhaps he's speculating in building lots; we 
deal in them,” Carmen rejoined with a laugh. “I 


26 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


sometimes meet my father’s friends, but don’t ask 
them about their business.” 

She went on with her supper, and Daly and his 
companion sat down not far off. The fellow was well 
dressed and on the whole a handsome man, though 
there was nothing about him to excite marked atten¬ 
tion. He looked a little older than Foster, who studied 
him thoughtfully. Daly had sold one or two machines 
in the neighborhood of the Crossing, but the business 
he did there hardly seemed to warrant his visit. It 
was possible that he made it an excuse for watching 
Featherstone, but Foster fancied that Carmen knew 
more about him than she confessed. 

“Perhaps you will visit Scotland before you come 
back,” she said by and by. 

“It’s possible. Featherstone’s relations live near 
the Border.” 

“Then I dare say you will take a packet for me to 
Edinburgh.” 

“Of course,” said Foster, who felt some surprise, 
and thought Carmen saw this although she looked at 
him gratefully. 

“I know you’ll take care of it, and you don’t ask 
questions; but you wonder why I want to send it by 
you. Well, the girls are inquisitive in our post office, 
and I’m sending the packet to a man. Besides, I 
wouldn’t like it damaged, and things sometimes get 
broken in the mail.” 

Foster said this often happened and hinted that the 
man was fortunate, but Carmen laughed. 

“Oh,” she said, “he’s as old as my father; we have 
friends in the Old Country. But there really is a little 


FOSTER MAKES A PROMISE 


27 

secret about the matter, and I don’t want anybody 
but you to see the packet.” 

“Very well; but I believe the Customs searchers, 
who examine your baggage, are sometimes officious. 
They might think I was trying to smuggle and make 
me open the thing.” 

“No; they wouldn’t suspect you. You have such 
a careless and innocent look. For all that, your 
friends know you can be trusted.” 

“Thank you! I suppose I’m lucky, because one 
meets people whose looks are against them. Anyhow, 
I’ll take the packet, and if necessary, protect it with my 
life.” 

“It won’t be necessary,” Carmen answered, smiling. 
Although she talked about other matters for some 
minutes before she told him to take her back to the 
hall, he imagined this was tactful politeness and she 
did not want to dismiss him too soon after obtaining 
her object. 

He danced one or two dances with other partners 
and enjoyed them keenly. His work was finished for 
the winter, and after the strenuous toil of the last ten 
years, it was a new and exhilarating experience to feel 
at liberty. Then there was no reason he should deny 
himself the pleasure he expected to derive from his 
trip. Their small mill was only adapted for the sup¬ 
ply of certain kinds of lumber, for which there was 
now not much demand, and they had not enough 
money to remodel it, while business would not get brisk 
again until the spring. 

By and by he went to the smoking-room and light¬ 
ing a cigarette, thought over what Carmen had said to 
him. At first she had seemed anxious to find out 


28 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


something about Featherstone, but he was not sur¬ 
prised by this. Carmen liked to know as much as 
possible about everybody she met, and used her knowl¬ 
edge cleverly when it was to her advantage. The 
other matter was more puzzling and he wondered why 
she wanted to send a packet secretly to a man as old 
as her father. It might, of course, be a caprice, be¬ 
cause girls were fond of mystery, but, as a rule, Car¬ 
men had a practical object for what she did. She had 
stated that they had friends in England, and this 
might mean that she had a lover. Perhaps she had 
exaggerated his age, and in any case, Foster thought 
it would not be a great drawback, if the man were 
rich. Carmen was rather ambitious than romantic. 

Her plans, however, were not his business, and he 
felt no jealousy. He liked Carmen and had some 
respect for her abilities, but thought he would sooner 
not marry her, even if she were willing, which was 
most improbable. Since he had promised to take the 
packet, he would do so and say nothing about the 
matter. 

He left the hall early, and driving home found his 
partner sitting by the stove. 

“Was Daly at the reunion?” Featherstone asked. 

Foster said he was there, and Featherstone resumed 
thoughtfully: “It’s curious he hasn’t come to the mill 
yet, but if he doesn’t turn up before Thursday, he’ll 
be too late. I’ll be ready to start with you by the after¬ 
noon train, and as there’s no use in spoiling a good 
plan for a few dollars, I’ll buy a ticket and check my 
baggage to Ottawa. Then I’ll get off at Streeton 
Creek, where I won’t have long to wait if the west- 


FOSTER MAKES A PROMISE 


29 


bound train’s on time. You can express my things 
on from Ottawa. The Montreal express stops about 
an hour.” 

“That ought to throw Daly off the track,” Foster 
agreed, and they talked about something else. 


IV 


THE FIRST ADVENTURE 

I T was about ten o’clock at night and the Montreal 
express sped through the lonely forest of North 
Ontario. The train was light, for there were few 
passengers on board, and the road was by no means 
good, but in spite of the jolting Foster enjoyed his 
cigarette in a corner of the smoking compartment 
at the end of a car. A colored porter had told him 
his berth in the sleeper was ready, Featherstone had 
left the train, and most of the passengers were al¬ 
ready in bed, but Foster did not want to follow them 
just yet. For a time, he had done with business, and 
was on his way to England. He relished the unusual 
sense of freedom. 

A half-moon shone down upon the rugged wilder¬ 
ness, and he could see the black pines rush past. The 
cars lurched and he heard the great locomotive snort 
on the inclines. Now and then there was a roar as 
they sped across a bridge, and water glimmered among 
the rocks below; afterwards the roar sank into a 
steady clatter and a soothing throb of wheels. The 
car was warm, and Foster, who had given the porter 
his overcoat, was lighting another cigarette when a 
man came in and sat down opposite. He looked hard 
at Foster, who quietly returned his gaze. The man 
was about his own height but some years older, and 
his expression was disturbed. 

30 


Jr 


THE FIRST ADVENTURE 


3* 


Foster felt interested. He had faced danger in the 
northern wilderness, where he had risked starvation 
and traveled on frozen rivers when the ice was break¬ 
ing up. Besides, he had once or twice been involved in 
savage fights about disputed mining claims, and knew 
how men looked when they bore a heavy strain. He 
thought the stranger was afraid but was not a coward. 

“You’re going to Ottawa, aren’t you? I heard 
you talking to your friend,” said the man. 

“I’m going to Montreal, but don’t see what that 
has to do with you.” 

The other made a sign of impatience. “Well, I 
dare say you can be trusted, and I’ve got to take a 
risk.” 

“It is a risk to trust a man you don’t know,” Foster 
rejoined. “But how can I help?” 

“I want you to put on my coat and cap, and stay 
here, reading the Witness, for about ten minutes.” 

“Holding the newspaper in front of my face, I 
suppose? Well, it’s rather an unusual request and I 
must know a little more. If there’s a detective on 
your trail and you expect me to hold his attention 
while you hide or try to jump off the train, I must 
refuse.” 

The stranger smiled. “I’ve wired for the police to 
meet me at Ottawa; the trouble is that I mayn’t 
get there. Time won’t allow of a long explanation, 
but there are men on board who’d stop at nothing 
to prevent my arrival. In fact, to some extent, I’m 
putting my life in your hands.” 

Foster looked at him, surprised. He had not ex¬ 
pected an adventure of this kind on a Canadian Pa- 


32 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

cific train, but did not think the other was exag¬ 
gerating. 

“How many men ?” he asked. 

“I’ve seen one, but know there are more.” 

“Then why not tell the conductor and have the 
train searched ?” 

“It wouldn’t work. I might find one enemy, but 
I’d warn the others that I was on my guard, and to 
let them think I suspect no danger is the best chance 
I have. The conductor’s making his way up the train, 
and I’m going to see if he can get me into the express 
car. It’s the only safe place; the clerks are armed. 
Well, my business is lawful and in the public interest, 
and I take it you’re a patriotic citizen.” 

Foster saw that he must decide quickly. Somehow 
he did not doubt the man, who kept his eyes on the 
door as if he expected somebody to come in. More¬ 
over, he expected to be met by the police at Ottawa. 

“It looks as if I’d run your risk when I put on your 
coat,” he said. 

“The porter’s sweeping up the car, and if you keep 
the door open, you’ll be safe while he’s about. Besides, 
if I can’t get into the express car, I’ll come back. Give 
me ten minutes, and then, if I don’t turn up and you 
feel uneasy, take off the coat and put the newspaper 
down.” 

“Very well,” said Foster. “Perhaps you had better 
take my hat.” 

The stranger gave him his heavy fur coat. “I’ll 
ask you for it at Ottawa. You’re going to Montreal. 
What’s your name ?” 

Foster told him and he resumed: “Then, if you 
don’t see me, stop at the Windsor 3 where I can tele- 


THE FIRST ADVENTURE 


33 

graph, a day or two. You’ll be repaid for any expense 
or inconvenience. Well, I’m going. Thanks!” 

“Good luck!” said Foster, who sat down and opened 
the Witness. 

Now he was alone, he began to wonder if he had 
been imposed upon. The man, however, did not look 
like a criminal; though alarmed, he had an air of 
quiet authority. In a sense, it seemed absurd that he 
should think himself in danger. Violence was not 
common in Canada, where the carrying of weapons 
was prohibited, and Foster had never heard of any 
sensational crime on the big expresses. Still he 
thought the man would not be afraid without good 
cause. He did not look like a detective, and Foster 
felt nearly sure he had not got on board at the Cross¬ 
ing. This seemed to indicate that he could not have 
been investigating the tragedy there, particularly since 
Hulton had only recovered from the shock a few 
days ago. Then Hulton had stated that he meant 
to send for a New York man, and not that he had 
done so. The fellow, however, might be a confiden¬ 
tial agent of the Government’s, who had perhaps found 
out something about certain mysterious attempts to 
damage public property. 

By and by Foster smiled. Carmen had given him 
a valuable packet to take care of, and now this stran¬ 
ger had asked his help. Both had stated their confi¬ 
dence in him, but it was getting obvious that to look 
as if one could be trusted had its drawbacks. He did 
not feel much disturbed as he read the newspaper, 
which reported the arrest of two strangers with dyna¬ 
mite cartridges near the locks of a big canal, but pres¬ 
ently put it down and glanced at his watch. The ten 


34 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


minutes had nearly gone and he looked out of the 
window. A frozen lake shimmered at the edge of the 
track and then, with a harsh uproar, the train plunged 
into the shadow of a cliff. On the summit stunted 
pines cut against the sky, and Foster knew they ran 
from the Manitoban border to the Ottawa across as 
rugged and stony a wilderness as there is in the Do¬ 
minion. The stations were small and sometimes only 
places where the locomotives stopped for water. He 
could not remember when they had passed the last. 

Looking at his watch again, he saw that he had 
kept his promise, but decided to give the man a few 
more minutes, and then go to his berth, unless he could 
learn something about him from the conductor. The 
berth was in the Pullman farther along the train, and 
after walking through the empty car he opened the 
door of a vestibule and stepped out on the platform. 
It was unprotected except for a brass rail at the side, 
which was divided in the middle where the steps went 
down. The floor jolted and a bitter wind that whistled 
between the vestibules buffeted him. Although he 
wore the fur coat, he shivered, and as he stepped 
across the gap between the platforms the door behind 
him rattled. 

Turning sharply round, he saw a man’s dark figure 
in the shadow of the curving roof, and felt his heart 
beat. Then the door he had been making for swung 
back, and he knew he had another antagonist to deal 
with. He carried no pistol and there was not much 
chance of a shout for help being heard, but he did not 
wait to be attacked, and with a sudden spring threw 
himself upon the man in front. He felt his knuckles 
jar and heard the fellow’s head crash against the 


THE FIRST ADVENTURE 


35 


vestibule, but the other seized him as he turned. Fos¬ 
ter surmised that they feared the report of a pistol 
but might use the knife, and determined to throw the 
fellow down the steps. If this proved impossible, he 
must try to jump off the train. 

So far as he could remember, the savage struggle 
only lasted a few moments. His assailant had appar¬ 
ently not room enough to draw a weapon and Foster 
kept his grip on him, so that he could not free his right 
arm, although this left his own face exposed. He was 
breathless and exhausted when he fell against the rail, 
but with a tense effort he lifted the fellow off his feet. 
Since there seemed to be no other way, they must both 
fall off the train. He lost his balance and his foot 
slipping from the top step threw him backward. Then 
he missed the rail he clutched at and felt a heavy 
shock. 

When his senses came back he found that he was 
lying on hard-frozen ground. There were dark firs 
about, but, a little farther on, the rails glistened in the 
moonlight, and he dully realized that he had fallen 
off the car. A faint snorting and a rumble that echoed 
across the forest showed that the train was going on. 
Foster lay still and listened until the sound died away. 
It looked as if nobody but the men who had attacked 
him knew there had been a struggle and he was left 
behind. Then he cautiously raised his head and lean¬ 
ing on his elbow looked about. It was a relief to 
find that he could do so, but he must see if his an¬ 
tagonist had fallen off with him, because if the fellow 
was not badly hurt he might renew the attack. 

There was nothing in the shadow beside the line, 
the gap where the rails ran into the moonlight was 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


36 

empty, and everything was still, except for the sigh 
of the cold breeze among the firs. For all that, Foster 
hesitated about getting up. The train was probably 
going at forty miles an hour, the ground was hard, and 
he might find that some bones were broken when he 
tried to move. The shock had perhaps dulled his 
senses and prevented his feeling much pain. It was, 
however, bitterly cold, and making an effort he got 
shakily upon his feet. To his surprise, he discovered 
that he was not much the worse although he felt sore 
and dizzy, and he sat down on a fallen branch to think 
what he should do. 

The next station was probably only marked by an 
agent’s office and a water-tank. Besides, his antago¬ 
nists might get down there and come back to look 
for him, in which case he would be at their mercy if 
they met. It was a long way to the station they had 
passed, but he thought the safest plan would be to 
make for it. This meant a walk of some hours, with 
nothing to eat on the way, but a train from Winnipeg 
would stop early in the morning, and the others would 
not expect him to resume his journey east. If they 
had found out their mistake, they would take it for 
granted that he was a confederate of the man they 
followed and most likely calculate on his trying to 
reach the new Canadian Northern line. Foster felt 
angry with the fellow who had lured him into the 
adventure and resolved to extricate himself from it as 
soon as possible. 

Getting up, he started west along the track, and 
after a time found himself embarrassed by the fur coat. 
It was heavy and too warm, but he would need it 
when he stopped. Then he wore thin city boots, and 


THE FIRST ADVENTURE 


37 


the track, as usual, was roughly ballasted with coarse 
gravel. The stones rolled about under his feet, and 
the ties were irregularly spaced, so that he could not 
step from one to another except by an awkward stride. 
He went on, however, and by and by began to wonder 
where he could get a drink, for the struggle or the 
shock had made him thirsty. 

The big coat proved troublesome to carry when 
he took it off. After a time his feet got sore and he 
tried to walk in the shallow drain beside the line, but 
this was filled with ice, on which he slipped. He had 
traveled by rougher trails and carried heavy loads, but 
that was some years ago and he wore different boots 
and fastened on his pack by proper straps. More¬ 
over, one got soft when leading a business life. 

By and by he heard the roar of water and pushing 
on faster came to a foaming creek that plunged down 
a stony ravine. A bridge crossed the gorge, and leav¬ 
ing the track he clambered down the rocky bank. 
Where the spray had fallen there were patches of ice, 
but Foster felt that he must get a drink. When he was 
half-way down his foot slipped and he slid the rest 
of the distance, bringing up with a shock at the edge 
of the water, where he struck a projecting stone. He 
felt shaken, but got a drink, and when he began to 
climb back found that he had wrenched his knee. 
Some movements were not painful, but when his 
weight came upon the joint it hurt. He must get up, 
for all that, and reached the top, where he sat down 
with his lips firmly set, and after putting on the coat 
felt in the pocket for a cigarette. 

The case he took out was not his, and he remem¬ 
bered that he was wearing another man’s coat. The 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


38 

cigarettes were of Turkish tobacco, which is not much 
used in Canada, and he thought the quality remark¬ 
ably good. This seemed to imply that their owner had 
a cultivated taste, and Foster began to wonder whether 
he was after all not a business man running away 
from his creditors, but rejected the theory. It was 
strange that although the cigarettes were expensive 
the case was of the kind sold in Western stores for 
fifty cents, but Foster presently gave up speculating 
about the man. 

The moon was getting low and ragged pine branches 
cut against the light. The track was wrapped in 
shadow that was only a little less dense than the 
gloom of the surrounding bush. It was not really 
cold for North Ontario, but the fur coat was hardly 
enough protection to make a bed in the open air 
comfortable. Foster had slept in the Athabasca for¬ 
ests when the thermometer marked forty degrees be¬ 
low zero, but he then wore different clothes and had 
been able to make a roaring fire and build a snow-bank 
between him and the wind. Moreover, he was still 
liable to be overtaken by the men on the train. 

Getting up, he found his knee sore and stiff, but 
limped on for an hour or two after the moon sank. 
He seemed to be stumbling along the bottom of a dark 
trench, for the firs shut him in like a wall and there 
was only an elusive glimmer of light above their ser¬ 
rated tops. He did not expect to find a house until 
he reached the station, for much of North Ontario is 
a wilderness where the trees are too small for milling 
and agriculture is impossible among the rocks. To 
make things worse, he felt hungry. The train had 
stopped at about seven o’clock at a desolate station 


THE FIRST ADVENTURE 


39 


where the passengers were given a few minutes to get 
supper, but Foster’s portion was too hot for him to 
eat. He tried to encourage himself by remembering 
that he had once marched three hundred miles across 
the snow with a badly frozen foot, but this did not 
make his present exertion easier. 

As he got hungry he got angry. He had gone away 
to enjoy himself, and this was how his holiday had 
begun! The Government agent, if that was what he 
was, ought not to have dragged a confiding stranger 
into his difficulties. He was now safe in the express 
car and chuckling over the troubles he had left his 
substitute to face. Then Foster tried to remember 
if he had left any papers with his address in his over¬ 
coat and decided that he had not done so. His wallet 
was now in his jacket pocket. This was satisfactory, 
because he meant to have nothing more to do with 
the matter. Tying the fur coat round his waist to 
take some of the weight off his shoulders, he trudged 
on as briskly as he could through the gloom. 


V 


featherstone’s people 

A FTER walking for some time, Foster heard a 
rumble in the distance behind him and climbed 
the rocky bank of the single-line track. There was 
not much room between the bank and rails, and he 
was glad of an excuse for sitting down. Taking out 
the stranger’s case, he lighted another of the Turkish 
cigarettes. They were the only benefit he was likely 
to derive from the adventure, and he felt some satis¬ 
faction in making use of them. 

In the meantime, the rumble grew into a roar that 
rolled across the forest with a rhythmic beat, and a 
ray of light pierced the gloom up the track. It was 
very bright and he knew it was thrown by a locomotive 
headlamp. A west-bound freight train was coming 
and he must wait until it passed. Freight trains were 
common objects, but as a rule when Foster saw one 
approaching he stopped to watch. The great size and 
power of the locomotive appealed to his imagination, 
and he liked to think of the reckless courage of the 
men who drove the steel road through eight hundred 
miles of rugged wilderness to Port Arthur, and then 
on again through rocks and muskegs to the Western 
prairie. It was a daring feat, when one remembered 
the obstacles and that there was no traffic to be devel¬ 
oped on the way. 


40 


FEATHERSTONE’S PEOPLE 


4i 


The beam of light became a cone of dazzling radi¬ 
ance; the rocks throbbed, and the gnarled pines shook 
as the roar swelled into a tremendous harmony of 
many different notes. Then there was sudden darkness* 
as the locomotive leaped past, and huge box-cars 
rushed, lurching and rocking, out of the thick, black 
smoke. Flying ballast crashed against the rocks, and 
though the ground was frozen hard a hail of small 
particles rattled among the trees. Then, as the tail- 
lights on the caboose sped by, a deep hoot of the 
whistle came back from about a quarter of a mile off, 
and soon afterwards the fading glimmer vanished 
round a curve. It seemed to be going slower, and the 
rumble died away suddenly. Foster thought there 
was a side-track ahead, where the freight would wait 
until a train going in the other direction crossed the 
switches. If he could reach the spot in time, he might 
save himself a long walk. 

His knee hurt as he stumbled over the gravel at the 
best pace he could make, but that did not matter much. 
A few minutes’ sharp pain could be borne, and he 
set his lips as he ran, while the perspiration dripped 
from him and his breath got short. This was the 
consequence of leading a soft and, in a sense, luxurious 
life, he thought, but when he tried to walk next day 
he understood the reason better. Still, he did not 
mean to be left behind in the frozen bush, and as he 
reached the curve was relieved to see lights flicker 
about the track. When he stopped a man flashed a 
lantern into his face. 

“Looks as if you’d made good time, but the track’s 
pretty rough for breaking records on,” he remarked. 

“That’s so,” Foster answered breathlessly. “I 


CARMEN'S MESSENGER 


42 

wanted to get here before you pulled out, because I’m 
going on with you.” 

“No, sir; it’s clean against the rules. You can’t 
get a free ride now on a C. P. freight.” 

“The rules apply to hobos. I’ve got a first-class 
ticket to Montreal.” 

“Then why in thunder are you running back to 
Fort William?” 

“I’d have been satisfied to make the next station. 
You see, I fell off the train.” 

Another man, who wore big gloves and grimy over¬ 
alls, had come up, and laughed when he heard Foster’s 
explanation. 

“You sure look pretty lively after falling off the 
Montreal express. Guess you must have done that 
kind of thing before! But our bosses are getting 
blamed particular about these free rides.” 

Foster opened his wallet and took out a strip of 
paper, folded in sections, but it was not by accident 
he held two or three dollar bills against it. 

“There’s my ticket. I bought it at the agent’s office, 
but I expect you know what would have happened if 
I’d got it on board. Anyway, you’ve heard of the 
drummer who beat his passage from Calgary to To¬ 
ronto at the cost of a box of cigars.” 

The brakesmen grinned, because the hint was plain. 
It is said 011 Western railroads that when a conductor 
collects a fare he throws the money at the car-roof 
and accounts to the company for as much as sticks 
there. 

“Well,” said the first man, “I guess we’ll take our 
chances and you can get into the caboose. You’ll 
find blankets, and a bunk where you can lie down if 


FEATHERSTON E’S PEOPLE 


43 

you take off your boots. We’ll dump you somewheres 
handy for catching the next east-bound.” 

Foster found the caboose comfortably warm. 
There was a stove in the middle and two or three 
bunks were fixed to the walls. In a few minutes the 
train they waited for went roaring past, and when the 
freight started one of the men gave him some supper. 
Then he got into a bunk and went to sleep. 

He caught the next express going east, and on reach¬ 
ing Ottawa, where he had some time to wait, half 
expected the man he had helped would come, or send 
somebody, to meet him. Although he wore the fur 
coat and stood in a conspicuous place, he was not 
accosted, and presently bought a newspaper. It threw 
no light upon the matter, and for a time he walked 
up and down, considering if he would go to the police. 
This was perhaps his duty, but it looked as if the 
owner of the coat had not been molested. After all, 
the fellow might be an absconding debtor, and if not 
it was obvious that he had some reason for keeping 
his secret. Foster decided to let him do so, and went 
back to the train. 

When he arrived at Montreal he went to the Wind¬ 
sor as he had been told, but there was no letter or 
telegram waiting and none came during the day or 
two he stayed. On the evening before he sailed he 
was sitting in the large entrance hall, which is a fea¬ 
ture of American and Canadian hotels, when he 
thought a man some distance off looked hard at him 
over his newspaper. Foster only caught a momentary 
glimpse of his face, because he held up the paper as if 
to get a better light and people were moving about be- 


44 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


tween them; but he thought the man was Daly, and 
after a few moments carelessly crossed the floor. 

A man sat at the spot he had marked and the chairs 
on both sides were unoccupied, but when Foster sat 
down in the nearest he saw the fellow was a stranger. 
This puzzled him, since he did not think he had been 
mistaken. It was, however, possible that Daly had 
been there, but had moved off quietly when Foster’s 
view was obstructed. If so, he must have had an 
object for hiding, and Foster waited some minutes 
before he went to the office and examined the guest¬ 
book. Daly’s name did not appear, and he found that 
nobody from the West had signed the book recently. 

“I wanted to see if a man I know is staying here,” 
he told the clerk. 

“That’s all right,” said the other. “Quite a number 
of people have been looking for friends to-day.” 

Foster described Daly as well as he could, and asked 
if he had examined the book. 

“No,” said the clerk. “Nobody just like that had 
the register while I’ve been about; but now I think 
of it, a man who might meet the bill stood by while 
another looked at the last page.” Then he indicated 
a figure near the revolving door. “There! that’s who 
he was with!” 

As the man pushed the door round Foster saw his 
face, and knew him for the stranger who had occupied 
the chair in which he had expected to find Daly. He 
thanked the clerk and went back thoughtfully to his 
place, because it looked as if Daly had been there 
and the other had helped him to steal away. If this 
surmise was correct, they might be trying to follow 
Featherstone; but he was, fortunately, out of their 


FEATHERSTONE’S PEOPLE 


45 


reach, and Foster decided that he must not exaggerate 
the importance of the matter. After all, Daly might 
have come to Montreal on business, and the rotunda 
of a Canadian hotel is something of a public resort. 
Still, he felt disturbed and presently gave the clerk 
the fur coat, telling him to deliver it when asked for. 
He felt it a relief to get rid of the thing. 

Next day he sailed on an Empress liner, and on the 
evening after he reached England left the train at a 
lonely station in the North. It was not yet dark, and 
for a moment or two he stood on the platform looking 
about. There had been rain, and the air had a damp 
freshness that was unusual in Canada. In the east 
and north the sky was covered with leaden cloud, 
against which rounded hilltops were faintly marked. 
Rugged moors rolled in long slopes towards the west, 
where the horizon was flushed with vivid saffron and 
delicate green. Up the middle of the foreground ran 
a deep valley, with blue shadow in its bottom and 
touches of orange light on its heathy sides. There 
were few trees, although a line of black firs ran boldly 
to the crest of a neighboring rise, and stone dykes 
were more common than the ragged hedges. Foster 
saw no plowed land, and nothing except heather 
seemed to grow on the peaty soil, which looked black 
as jet where the railway cutting pierced it. Indeed, 
he thought the landscape as savage and desolate as any 
he had seen in Canada, but as he did not like tame 
country this had a certain charm. 

While he looked about a man came up. He was 
elderly and dressed with extreme neatness in old- 
fashioned dark clothes, but he had the unmistakable 
look of a gentleman’s servant. Though there was a 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


46 

small car in the road, he was obviously not a pro¬ 
fessional chauffeur. 

“You’ll be Mr. Foster, sir, for the Garth?” he said. 

Foster said he was and the man resumed: “Mr. 
Featherstone sent the car and his apologies. He had 
to attend the court, being a magistrate, and hoped you 
would excuse his not coming.” 

Then he picked up Foster’s portmanteau and called 
a porter, who was moving some clanging milk cans, 
to bring his bag. 

“Never mind; I’ll take it,” Foster told him. 

“As you like, sir, but it’s perhaps not quite usual 
in this country,” the other answered in a deprecatory 
tone. 

“I suppose I ought to have remembered that,” Fos¬ 
ter agreed smiling. 

They crossed the platform, and while they waited 
for the bag the man said respectfully, “Might I ask if 
Mr. Lawrence was better when you left, sir? It was 
a disappointment to us when we heard he could not 
come home.” 

Foster liked the fellow. He was very formal, but 
seemed to include himself in his master’s family. 

“Yes,” he said. “In fact, I expect he’ll be quite 
well in a month or two. I suppose you were at the 
Garth before my partner left?” 

“I’ve served Mr. Featherstone for thirty years, sir, 
and led Mr. Lawrence’s first pony and cleaned his first 
gun. It wasn’t my regular duty, sir, but he was the 
only son and I looked after him. If I may say so, we 
were much upset when we heard that he was ill.” 

Then the bag was brought, and as the car ran across 
the moor Foster noted the smooth, hard surface of the 


FEATHERSTONE’S PEOPLE 


47 


wet road. The country was wild and desolate, but 
they had no roads like this in Canada, except perhaps 
in one or two of the larger cities. Indeed, in Western 
towns he knew, it was something of an adventure to 
cross the street during the spring thaw. The light 
got red and angry as they dipped into the valley; the 
firs on the hillcrest stood out black and sharp, and 
then melted into the gray background. A river pool 
shone with a ruby gleam that suddenly went out, and 
the dim water vanished into the shadow, brawling 
among the stones. 

There was smooth pasture in the valley, broken by 
dark squares of turnip fields and pale stubble; but here 
and there the heath appeared again and wild cotton 
showed faintly white above the black peat-soil. By 
and by a cross, standing by itself on the lonely hillside, 
caught Foster’s eye, and he asked his companion 
about it. 

“The Count’s Cross, sir; a courtesy title they held 
in the next dale. He was killed in a raid on a tower 
down the water, before the Featherstones came.” 

“But did they bury him up there ?” 

“No, sir; they were all buried at night by the water 
of Langrigg, but when they were carrying him home 
in the mist by the hill road the Scots from the tower 
overtook them The Count’s men were wounded and 
their horses foundered, but the Scots let them go 
when they found that he was dead. About 1300, sir. 
Somebody put up the cross to commemorate it.” 

“They seem to have been a chivalrous lot,” Foster 
remarked. “I wonder if that kind of thing would 
happen nowadays!” 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


48 

“I’m afraid one couldn’t expect it, sir,” the old 
fellow answered and Foster smiled. 

The cross faded into the hillside; it got dark and 
the valley narrowed. Trees grew in sheltered spots; 
the faint, delicate tracery of birch branches breaking 
the solid, black ranks of the firs. The road wound 
along the river, which roared, half seen, in the gloom. 
Now and then they ran through water, and presently 
the glare of the headlamps bored through breast-high 
mist. There was a smell of wet soil and rotting leaves. 
It was very different from the tangled pine bush of 
Ontario and the stark bareness of the plains, but it 
was somehow familiar and Foster felt that he was at 
home. 

By and by the moon came out, and the mist got 
thinner as they ran into an opening where the side of 
the glen fell back. Lights twinkled at the foot of a 
hill, and as they sped on the irregular outline of a 
house showed against a background of trees. It glim¬ 
mered, long and low, in the moonlight, and then Fos¬ 
ter lost it as they ran through a gate into the darkness 
of a belt of firs. A minute or two later, the car 
slowed and stopped after passing round a bend. 

A wide door stood hospitably open, and a figure 
upon the steps cut against the light. There were two 
more figures inside the hall, and as he got down-Foster 
heard voices that sounded strangely pleasant and re¬ 
fined. Then a man whom he could not see well shook 
hands with him and took him in, and he stopped, half 
dazzled by the brightness. 

The hall was large and a fire burned on a deep 
hearth. There were oil lamps on tall pillars, and in the 
background a broad staircase ran up to a gallery in 


FEATHERSTONE’S PEOPLE 


49 


the gloom. Foster, however, had not much time to 
look about, for as soon as he had given up his hat and 
coat his host led him towards the fire and two ladies 
came up. He knew one was his partner’s mother and 
the other his sister, but although they were like Law¬ 
rence he remarked a difference that was puzzling until 
he understood its origin. Mrs. Featherstone had an 
unmistakable stamp of dignity, but her face was gentle 
and her look very friendly; her daughter was tall and 
Foster thought remarkably graceful, with an air of 
pride and reserve, although this vanished when she 
gave him a frank welcoming smile. Featherstone, 
who was older than his wife, had short, gray hair, 
and a lined, brown face, but looked strong and carried 
himself well. 

Foster, who liked them at once, wondered rather 
anxiously whether he had pleased or disappointed 
them. But he imagined that they would reserve their 
opinion. They were, of course, not the people to show 
what they thought, and if he had felt any embarrass¬ 
ment, they would have known how to put him at his 
ease. Still his type was, no doubt, new to them and 
his views might jar. He did not remember what they 
said, but they somehow made him feel he was not a 
stranger but a friend who had a claim, and when he 
went to his room he knew he would enjoy his stay with 
Featherstone’s people. 


VI 


his comrade’s story 

TP OSTER spent the most part of the next day in 
-*■ the open air with his host. Featherstone had 
a quiet, genial manner and seemed to have read much, 
though he held the narrow views that sometimes mark 
the untraveled Englishman. He appeared to be scru¬ 
pulously just and showed sound judgment about mat¬ 
ters he understood, but he had strong prejudices and 
Foster did not think him clever. With his rather 
sensitive pride and fastidiousness he was certainly not 
the man to make his mark in Canada, and Foster be¬ 
gan to understand certain traits of his comrade’s that 
had puzzled him. Lawrence, although he had keener 
intelligence, was not quite so fine a type as his father, 
and in consequence stood rough wear better. But he 
too, in spite of his physical courage, now and then 
showed a supine carelessness and tried to avoid, in¬ 
stead of boldly grappling with, things that jarred. 

They set out to go shooting, but Featherstone 
stopped to talk to everybody they met, and showed 
keen interest in such matters as the turnip crop and 
the price of sheep. It was clear that he was liked and 
respected. Sometimes he turned aside to examine tot¬ 
tering gates and blocked ditches, and commented to 
Foster upon the economics of farming and the burden 
of taxes. The latter soon gathered that there was not 
50 


HIS COMRADE’S STORY 51 

much profit to be derived from a small moorland estate 
and his host was far from rich. It looked as if it had 
cost him, and perhaps his family, some self-denial to 
send the money that had once or twice enabled Law¬ 
rence, and Foster with him, to weather a crisis. 

At noon they were given a better lunch than Foster 
had often been satisfied with at a lonely farm, where 
Featherstone spoke of him as his son’s partner, and 
seemed to take an ingenuous pride in making it known 
that Lawrence was prospering. This gave Foster a 
hint that he acted on later. They, however, shot a 
brace of partridges in a turnip field, a widgeon that 
rose from a reedy tarn, and a woodcock that sprang 
out of a holly thicket in a bog. It was a day of gleams 
of sunlight, passing showers, and mist that rolled 
about the hills and swept away, leaving the long slopes 
in transient brightness, checkered with the green of 
mosses and the red of withered fern. The sky cleared 
as they turned homewards, and when they reached 
the Garth an angry crimson glow spread across the 
west. 

Tea was brought them in the hall and Foster, who 
had changed his clothes, which was a rare luxury in 
Canada, sat with much content in a corner by the 
hearth. Fie had been out in the raw wind long enough 
to enjoy the rest and warmth, and the presence of 
two English ladies added to the charm. Mrs. Feather- 
stone was knitting, but Alice talked to her father 
about the shooting and what he had noted on the 
farms. Foster thought her cleverer than the others, 
but it was obvious that her interest was not forced. 
She understood agriculture and her remarks were sin¬ 
gularly shrewd. 


5 ^ 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


In a sense, this was puzzling, for she had, in an 
extra degree, the fastidious refinement that marked 
the rest, and with it a touch of quiet haughtiness. 
Although she often smiled, she was characterized by 
a restful calm, and her glance was steady and level. 
Alice was tall, with unusually regular features, brown 
eyes, and brown hair, but Foster could not analyze 
her charm, which was somehow strengthened by a 
hint of reserve. He was in the glow of the fire, and 
imagined that she once or twice gave him a glance of 
thoughtful scrutiny. 

The room was getting dim, but lights had not been 
brought, and the red glow outside filled the large 
oblong of the casement window. Dark fir branches 
cut against the lurid color and Foster, looking out, 
saw the radiance strike through the straight rows of 
trunks. 

“Something like Ontario, isn’t it?” said Feather- 
stone, indicating the trees. 

“Yes, in a way, but there’s a difference,” Foster 
replied. “In eastern Manitoba and Ontario the bush 
is choked and tangled, and runs nearly eight hundred 
miles. The small pines are half burned in places; in 
others they’re wrecked and rotten, and lean across each 
other as if they were drunk. Then you can travel all 
day without finding an opening, unless it’s a lonely 
lake or a river tumbling among the rocks.” 

“It sounds depressing,” Mrs. Featherstone re¬ 
marked. “We must hope you will find your stay here 
a pleasant change.” 

“The curious thing is that it doesn’t feel strange. 
All I’ve seen so far, including the Garth, seems fa¬ 
miliar.” 


HIS COMRADE’S STORY 


53 

“But perhaps that isn’t remarkable. You are Eng¬ 
lish and were, I dare say, brought up in the country 
and used to our mode of life.” 

Foster saw Alice glance at him and felt he must be 
frank. 

“No,” he said, “my life in England was different 
from yours. It was spent in monotonous work, and 
when I went home at night to a shabby room in a 
street of small dingy houses it was too late, and I was 
often too dejected, to think of amusements. Twice 
I spent a glorious ten days among the hills, but that 
was all I saw of England unspoiled by tramway lines 
and smoke, and the holidays cost a good deal of self- 
denial. Railway fares were a serious obstacle.” 

Alice smiled, but he thought the look she gave him 
hinted at approval. 

“Self-denial isn’t so unusual as you seem to think. 
We know something about it at the Garth.” 

“But you sent my partner money when he needed 
it,” Foster answered, wondering how far he could 
go. “The last time it was a large amount and helped 
us to turn an awkward corner. In fact, we should 
have gone under for a time if it hadn’t come, and I 
remember feeling that I owed much to friends I might 
never see, because I shared the benefit with your 
brother. In its Western sense, partner means more 
than a business associate.” 

“That is obvious,” Alice rejoined quietly, but with 
meaning. 

“The main thing is that the money seems to have 
been well spent,” Featherstone interposed. “For all 
that, we don’t know much about what Lawrence did 
with it or, indeed, about his life in Canada.” 


54 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“It’s curious that one gets out of the way of writing 
home in the West, and it’s often difficult to give one’s 
friends a clear idea of how one lives. Things are 
different-” 

Mrs. Featherstone smiled, and Foster saw that his 
wish to make excuses for his comrade’s negligence was 
understood. Featherstone, however, was franker 
than he expected. 

“There were good reasons for Lawrence’s not writ¬ 
ing home and they made it awkward for us to write 
to him for a time. You can now tell us what he has 
done in Canada. We want to know.” 

Foster began with some hesitation by relating how 
he had first met his comrade in the churned-up mud 
outside a logging camp after a dispute with the bully¬ 
ing manager. The men were beaten, but Lawrence 
and two or three more from the river-gang would not 
give in, and started in the rain, without blankets and 
with very little food, which a sympathetic cook stole 
for them, on a long march to the nearest settlement. 
There they took a contract for clearing land, and 
Foster described how they lived in a rude bark shack 
while they felled the trees and piled them up for burn¬ 
ing. It was strenuous work, and having been unable 
to collect their wages from the lumber firm, the clothes 
they could not replace went to pieces and they slept, 
for the most part, in the wet rags they wore by day. 
But they held out until the work was done and paid 
for. Foster tried to do his comrade justice and 
thought he had not exaggerated, for Lawrence’s phil¬ 
osophic good humor had encouraged the rest and 
smoothed over difficulties that threatened to break up 
the gang. 



HIS COMRADE’S STORY 


55 

Then he stopped and glanced at the others, wonder¬ 
ing whether he had said too much and had drawn a 
picture they shrank from contemplating. Alice’s eyes 
were steadily fixed on him. Mrs. Featherstone looked 
grave, but there was a hint of proud satisfaction in her 
husband’s face. Somewhat to his surprise, Foster saw 
that he had not jarred or bored them. 

“You made good; I believe that’s the proper 
phrase,” said Featherstone. “Go on, please.” 

Foster did so. His adventures had not appeared 
remarkable when they happened, and he did not think 
himself much of a story-teller, but he meant to do his 
best, for his partner’s sake. It would be something 
if he could show Lawrence’s people the courage and 
cheerfulness with which he had faced his troubles. 
Still, he thought it better to vary the theme, and re¬ 
lated How they engaged themselves as salesmen at a 
department store, where Lawrence rashly undertook 
to serve the drugs and prescribed for confiding cus¬ 
tomers until a mistake that might have had disastrous 
consequences led to his being fired. Foster went with 
him, and they next undertook to cook, without any 
useful knowledge of the art, for a railroad construc¬ 
tion gang. Their incompetence became obvious when 
Lawrence attempted to save labor by putting a week’s 
supply of desiccated apples to soak at once, with the 
consequence that the floor of the caboose was cov¬ 
ered with swollen fruit that had forced itself out of 
the pot. One of the gang, who went in to steal some 
fried pork, declared that the blamed apples chased him 
down the steps. 

Featherstone’s chuckle was encouraging, but Foster 
glanced at Alice and thought he read another emotion 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


56 

than amusement in her sparkling eyes. It was now 
nearly dark, but the glow of the fire touched the others' 
faces and nobody seemed to think of ringing for lights. 

He went on to describe their retreat in winter from 
a worthless mineral claim, where they had remained 
until the snow surprised them when their food was 
nearly gone. Eight or nine miles a day was the most 
they could drag their hand-sledge through the tangled 
bush, and Foster got his foot frozen through sleeping 
in wet boots. The frozen part galled into a wound, 
but with provisions running out they could not stop 
to rest. The tent and half their blankets had to be 
thrown away and Lawrence hauled him on the sledge 
over rocks and fallen logs, with the temperature at 
forty degrees below, until they reached a frozen river, 
down which he struggled against a savage wind. 

Then came a profitable contract, which Lawrence 
obtained against keen opposition, for supplying tele¬ 
phone posts, and Foster was surprised to find that 
the description of their efforts to get the logs out of 
a rugged wilderness made a stirring tale. Although 
he paused once or twice apologetically, the others made 
him resume, and he began to wish he was not in the 
firelight when he saw that Alice was quietly studying 
him. It was his partner's story he meant to tell, but 
since they were together he could not leave himself 
out. 

He could, however, change the scene, and skipping 
much, came to their start as general contractors at 
Gardner’s Crossing. The Hulton Company, which 
was not so large then, gave them work, but they were 
hampered by want of capital, and had to meet the 
competition of richer and sometimes unscrupulous 


HIS COMRADE’S STORY 57 

antagonists. Still they made progress; staking all 
they had on the chance of carrying out risky work 
that others would not touch, sometimes testing the 
patience of creditors, and now and then outwitting 
a rival by an ingenious ruse. Lawrence lived in the 
single-room office, cooking for himself on an oil-stove, 
while Foster camped with their men where they were 
at work. 

Then they built the sawmill with the help of Law¬ 
rence’s check from home, and soon afterwards met 
with their worst reverse. They had engaged to supply 
the Hulton Company with lumber of a certain kind 
for some special work, and then found that few of the 
trees they required grew near the river. This meant 
that a skidway must be made over a very rough hill 
and a gasolene winding engine bought or hired to haul 
the logs out of the next valley. There was, however, 
another fir easily accessible that might suit the pur¬ 
pose, but not quite as well, and Foster related how he 
and his partner sat up late one night, calculating costs 
and wondering whether they should pay Hulton a fine 
to break the bargain. He added naively that they 
were some time arguing if they should substitute the 
inferior wood. 

“Whose opinion was it that you should supply the 
exact material you had promised?” Featherstone 
asked. 

“Well,” said Foster, “Lawrence said so first, but I 
think we both meant to let them have the best.” 

Featherstone’s glance at his wife indicated relief, 
but something in Alice’s face showed that she had 
known what Foster’s reply would be. She had listened 
with keen interest, and he stopped, half amused and 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


58 

half embarrassed. Perhaps he had talked too much, 
and while he meant to do Lawrence justice, he did 
not want to play the part of the indomitable pioneer 
for the girl’s benefit. Moreover, he knew she would 
detect, and despise him for, any attempt to do so, and 
as he valued her good opinion, it was not modesty 
alone that led him to make Lawrence the hero of the 
piece. 

“So you stuck to your bargain!” Featherstone re¬ 
marked. “Tell us how you carried it out.” 

Foster forgot himself and the others as he contin¬ 
ued, for he had a vivid memory of the struggle. He 
took charge of the work in the woods, while Lawrence 
tactfully pressed for payment of outstanding accounts, 
put off creditors, and somehow provided money for 
wages. As extra gangs had to be hired, Foster owned 
that he did not know how the thing was done. He 
cut a grade for the skidway up the hill, slashing 
tangled bush and blasting rocks, worked in the snow 
by moonlight long after his men stopped, and after¬ 
wards learned that Lawrence often went without a 
meal when pay-day got near. But they hauled out 
the logs and the lumber was delivered. When he 
stopped, Featherstone looked up with some color in 
his face. 

“Thank you,” he said. “It is a moving tale. The 
money we sent you was well spent. I could have ex¬ 
pected nothing better of my son. But I suppose you 
found it paid to keep your promise.” 

“In this case, it did,” Foster answered with a smile. 
“Hulton’s gave us the first chance of any work they 
did not care to do themselves; you see, we had put 
in a few wood-working machines. In fact, after a 


HIS COMRADE’S STORY 


59 

time, Ilulton told Lawrence to walk through the fac¬ 
tory now and then and send in anything the heads of 
departments required. But Ive talked long enough 
and fear you’re bored.” 

“No,” said Featherstone simply, “you have given 
us great pleasure and made us realize the bracing life 
my son is leading. You could have done us no favor 
that would equal this.” 

Then he took Foster off to the gun-room, where they 
smoked and talked about the day’s shooting, until 
Featherstone said rather abruptly, “Perhaps I had 
better tell you that I didn’t send Lawrer ~e the check 
that enabled you to build the mill. It was not in my 
power to do so then.” 

“But he said the money came from home.” 

“It did. Alice was left a small legacy and insisted 
on selling the shares it consisted of in order to help her 
brother. I must confess that I thought she was rash, 
but the money was hers. Now it is obvious that the 
sacrifice she made was justified.” 

Featherstone began to talk about something else, 
but Foster felt embarrassed. It looked as if he owed 
his success in business to the girl’s generosity, and 
although he could not see why this should disturb him, 
it did. 

He went down to dinner rather early and found 
Alice in the hall. There was nobody else about, and 
by the way she looked up as he advanced he thought 
she had been waiting for him. Alice had beauty, but 
it was her proud reserve he felt most. She did not 
give her friendship lightly, but he believed it was 
worth winning. 

“I wanted to thank you for explaining things so 


6 o 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


well,” she said. “It’s the first time we have really 
learned much about my brother’s life in Canada.” 

Foster hesitated. “I felt that you wanted to know. 
But, in a way, it must have sounded rather egotistical. 
In fact, the thing wasn’t as easy as you perhaps think.” 

Alice smiled. “You couldn’t leave yourself out, 
although it was obvious that you meant to give my 
brother the leading part.” 

“I honestly don’t think I exaggerated.” 

“No,” she agreed, “it sounded real, and there were 
touches, little personal characteristics, you couldn’t 
have imagined. You see, I am younger than Law¬ 
rence and thought him something of a romantic hero 
before he left home.” Then she paused for a moment. 
“I got a very bad shock when he was forced to go. 
You know why he went?” 

“I don’t; I’ve sometimes thought he wanted to tell 
me.” 

“Then you never asked ?” 

“I did not; I think I didn’t want to know.” 

She gave him a steady searching glance and he 
felt that if he had been insincere she would have found 
out. 

“But you knew there was something wrong. If he 
had injured somebody in England, he might have 
injured you. What made you so trustful?” 

“Your brother himself. Then he was, so to speak, 
my benefactor. If he hadn’t taken me up, I might 
have been chopping trees in the snow, instead of enjoy¬ 
ing a holiday in England and, to emphasize the con¬ 
trast, staying at a house like this.” 

“It doesn’t follow; you might have found another 


HIS COMRADE’S STORY 61 

opportunity. The point is that you did trust Law¬ 
rence.” 

Foster disliked sentiment and knew that if he struck 
a false note it would jar. 

“Well,” he said, “I don’t claim that I’m a judge 
of character, but one can’t make progress in Canada 
and be a fool. We had gone hungry in the bush to¬ 
gether, and hauled the hand-sledge across the snow, 
when it was very doubtful if we’d make the settle¬ 
ments. Perhaps there isn’t a better way of testing a, 
partner than that. Then a man starts fair in the new 
countries, and one feels that this is right. He may 
have given way once to some strong temptation and 
go the straighter for it afterwards.” 

Alice looked at him with a curious gleam in her eyes 
that made his heart beat. 

“It was a very strong temptation,” she said quietly 
and stopped as Mrs. Feather stone came in. 


VII 


THE PACKET 

W HEN he had been a few days at the Garth, 
Foster thought he had better take Carmen’s 
packet to Edinburgh. She had said nothing about its 
being urgent and he did not want to go, but he must 
keep his promise and would afterwards be at liberty. 
Mrs. Featherstone had given him to understand that 
he was to make the Garth his headquarters as long as 
he stayed in England, and he looked forward to doing 
so with much content. The more he saw of his hosts, 
the better he liked them, and it was a privilege to 
enjoy Alice Featherstone’s friendship. She had, of 
course, given it him for her brother’s sake, but he must 
try to keep it on his merits. 

Since he had seen Alice he began to understand Car¬ 
men better. Carmen had charm and knew how to use 
it to her advantage, while he could not imagine Alice’s 
employing her beauty to gain an object. She was 
proud, with an essentially clean pride, and sincere, 
while Carmen had a talent for intrigue. The latter 
enjoyed using her cleverness to put down a rival or 
secure a prominent place; she was a hustler, as they 
said in the West. Alice, he thought, would not even 
claim what was hers; it must be willingly offered or 
she would let it go. Yet he knew she would be a 
staunch and generous friend to anybody who gained 
her confidence. 


62 


THE PACKET 


63 

This kind of comparison, however, was profitless 
and perhaps in bad taste. After alb he was a friend of 
Carmen’s and must do her errand. He left the Garth 
next morning, and Featherstone, who made him prom¬ 
ise to come back as soon as possible, drove him across 
the moors to a small station on the North British line, 
where he caught an Edinburgh train. 

When they ran out of the hills at Hawick, rain was 
falling and the valley filled with smoky haze, through 
which loomed factories and chimney stacks. The sta¬ 
tion was crowded, and Foster gathered from the talk 
of the people who got in that a big wool sale was 
going on and the townsfolk who were not at the auc¬ 
tion made it a holiday. His compartment was full, 
but looking through the window he saw a fashionably 
dressed girl hurrying along the platform with a porter. 
They tried one or two carriages, in which there seemed 
to be no room, and the guard had blown his whistle 
when they came abreast of Foster’s compartment. 
Opening the door as the train began to move, he held 
out his hand and pulled the girl in. 

“My bag; it mustn’t be left!” she cried, trying to 
get back to the door, but Foster caught the bag as the 
porter held it up and put it on the rack. 

“There’s a seat in the corner,” he said and went into 
the corridor. 

When they stopped at Galashiels a number of people 
got out, and he returned to the compartment. It was 
now unoccupied except by an old man and the girl he 
had helped, who gave him a grateful smile. 

“I hadn’t time to thank you, but I should have 
missed the train if you had not been prompt,” she said. 

Foster did not know if Scottish etiquette warranted 



CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


64 

anything more than a conventional reply, but he ven¬ 
tured to remark: “You certainly seemed to have cut 
things rather fine.” 

“I had to drive some distance and the hill roads 
were bad; then when we got to the town the streets 
were crowded.” 

“That would be sae,” the old man agreed. “Ha¬ 
wick’s gey thrang at the wool sales when the yam 
trade is guid.” 

Foster liked to talk to strangers and as the girl had 
not rebuffed him, he took her cloak, which looked very 
wet, from the rack. 

“Perhaps I’d better shake this in the corridor and 
then we can hang it up,” he said. 

She allowed him to do so and the old man remarked: 
“Guid gear’s worth the saving, and I was thinking it 
would be nane the waur o’ a bit shake, but if ye had 
leeved to my age among the mosses, ye’d no’ find yere- 
self sae soople.” 

“Any kind of gear’s worth taking care of.” 

“That’s true,” agreed the other. “A verra praise¬ 
worthy sentiment, if ye practice it. But I wouldna’ 
say ye were a Scot.” 

“In a sense, I’m a Canadian, but from what I’ve 
seen of the Ontario Scots the difference isn’t very 
marked. Anyhow, they don’t buy new material until 
the old’s worn out.” 

The man chuckled, but Foster thought the girl 
looked interested. 

“Then you come from Canada,” she said. “Do you 
know any of the Ontario cities?” 

“I have been in Toronto, but I know the small towns 
near the Manitoba border best. In fact, I left an am- 


THE PACKET 65 

bitious place called Gardner’s Crossing about fourteen 
days ago.” 

From the quick glance she gave him he imagined 
that she had heard of the town, but she said, “I have 
some friends in Ontario and understand that they have 
had what they call a set-back there. Did this extend 
to the neighborhood you came from?” 

Foster told her something about the development of 
the lumber trade and mining, but although he had 
hardly expected her to be interested he thought she 
was, and the old man’s shrewd remarks helped the con¬ 
versation along. 

“Isn’t the Crossing where the big factory is? I for¬ 
get the name of it,” she asked by and by. 

“Hulton’s,” said Foster, and afterwards thought she 
tactfully encouraged him to talk about the manufactur¬ 
ing firm, although he did not mention Fred Hulton’s 
death. Her manner, however, was quite correct; he 
had been of some small help, which warranted her con¬ 
versing with him to pass the time. That was all, and 
when their companion got out and she opened a book 
he went to the smoking-compartment. 

When he left the train at the Waverley station he 
saw her on the platform and she gave him a slight 
bow, but he understood that their acquaintance ended 
there and was content. After lunch he walked along 
Princes Street and back to the castle. The sky was 
clear, the sun shone on the old tall houses, and a nip¬ 
ping north-easter blew across the Forth. In spite of 
its age and modern industry, the town looked strangely 
clean and cold. No smoke could hang about it in the 
nipping wind; its prevailing color was granite-gray. 
The Forth was a streak of raw indigo, and the hills 


66 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


all round were steely blue. Edinburgh was like no 
English town; it had an austere half-classical beauty 
that was peculiar to itself; perhaps Quebec, though 
different, resembled it most of all the cities he had 
seen. 

Then he remembered Carmen’s packet, and after 
asking a passer-by took a tram-car that carried him 
through the southern quarter of the town into a wide 
road, lined by well-built stone houses. Standing in 
small, neat gardens, they ran back to the open country, 
with a bold ridge of moors in the distance. Foster 
got down where he was directed and crossed the road 
to one of the houses. They were all much alike and 
he thought hinted at the character of their occupants. 
One would expect to find the people who lived there 
prosperous citizens with sober, conventional habits. 

He went up a short, tiled path and rang the bell. 
A smart maid-servant showed him into a small, morn¬ 
ing-room, where everything was very neat, and after a 
few moments a man came in. He was the kind of man 
Foster had expected to find in such a house, well- 
dressed, with polite but rather formal manners, and 
Foster briefly stated his business. He thought the 
man looked at him sharply, but it was about four 
o’clock in the afternoon and the light was not good. 

“Mr. Graham does not live here now; he left a week 
or two ago,” he said. “Do you know him personally?” 

“No,” said Foster. “Miss Austin asked me to give 
him the packet.” 

“Then you know Mr. Austin.” 

“In a way,” said Foster, smiling. “We speak when 
we meet on the street, but don’t get much further. In 
fact, Austin’s a business rival of mine.” 


THE PACKET 


67 

The man seemed to ponder for a moment or two. 
Then he said, “I gather that you want to deliver the 
packet, not to post it ?” 

“That’s so. I don’t know if it matters much, but 
I’d like to put it in Graham’s hands.” 

“Very well. He’s gone to Newcastle, but I have 
his address somewhere. If you will wait a minute or 
two, I’ll look.” 

He took the packet, as if he meant to write the 
address on it, and Foster sat down. The door of the 
room was half open and while he waited somebody 
entered the house. Steps came along the hall, and a 
girl pushed the door back, and then stopped, looking 
at him in surprise. He understood this as he saw she 
was the girl he had helped into the train. 

“I didn’t know you were coming here,” she said. 

“Nor did I, in a sense,” Foster answered with a 
smile. “I mean I didn’t know it was your house.” 

“My name was on the label of the bag and rather 
conspicuous.” 

“It would have meant nothing if I had seen it. In 
fact, I must own I don’t know it now.” 

The girl looked puzzled, and Foster explained that 
he had come with a packet, but had merely been given 
Graham’s name and the number of the house. He 
added that he had found he must look for the man in 
Newcastle. 

“Then you are a friend of Mr. Austin’s?” she said. 

Foster thought it strange that she had not told him 
she knew Austin when she asked about the Crossing, 
but he replied: “I’m a friend of Miss Austin’s.” 

“Ah!” she said thoughtfully; “do you mind ex¬ 
plaining what you mean by that ?” 


68 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“Perhaps it’s hardly worth while, but I cafi’t claim 
that Austin and I are particularly friendly. Our busi¬ 
ness interests sometimes clash.” 

She was silent for a few moments, and he wondered 
why both she and the man had been curious to know 
how far his acquaintance with Austin went. Then she 
looked up with a quick movement. “Newcastle is not 
a charming town, and if you have no other reason for 
going there, it might be better to post the packet.” 

Foster was somewhat puzzled. She had spoken 
meaningly, as if she meant to give him a hint. 

“The trouble is that I promised Miss Austin to 
deliver it.” 

“You have brought it to England,” she persisted. 
“It will be safe in the post-” 

She stopped with a glance at the door, and Foster 
heard a step in the passage. Then she quietly turned 
to the man who had taken the packet. 

“I would have missed the train at Hawick but for 
this gentleman’s help,” she said. “Still, I did not 
know he was coming here until I saw him as I passed 
the door.” 

The other, who had looked at her rather sharply, 
nodded and gave Foster the packet. 

“As there was room enough, I wrote the new ad¬ 
dress on the cover.” 

Foster thanked him and took his leave, but as the 
man went before him to the door the girl made a sign. 

“Post it,” she whispered and turned back into the 
room. 

After leaving the house Foster walked along the 
road in a thoughtful mood. The girl was apparently 
the man’s daughter or niece. Their relative ages war- 



THE PACKET 


69 

ranted the surmise, and her quick explanation of how 
she came to be talking to a stranger indicated that she 
recognized his authority, while Foster thought she 
had been disturbed when she heard his step. It was 
strange that she should urge him to post the packet, 
and he would sooner have done so, but it was not a 
long journey to Newcastle and he must keep his prom¬ 
ise. Then he saw a tram-car coming and dismissed the 
matter. 

Going back to his hotel, he found there was an even¬ 
ing train and decided to leave by it. Edinburgh had 
attractions, but he could come back and was anxious 
to get rid of the packet, moreover he grudged the time 
he spent away from the Garth. There were not many 
passengers at the station and he found an empty 
compartment, where he read a newspaper until he got 
tired and lifting a corner of the blind looked out. 
Here and there a light rushed back through the dark¬ 
ness and vanished as the express sped south with a 
smoothness that was a contrast to the jolting he had 
been used to in Canada. Indeed, except for the roar 
when they ran across a bridge and the confused flash¬ 
ing past of lamps as they swept through a station, he 
could hardly have imagined himself on board a train. 
There was, however, not much to be seen, and he took 
out the packet. 

It looked somewhat bulkier and he examined it care¬ 
fully, but the cover did not seem to have been removed. 
It could not have been replaced by another, because 
the original address was there and he knew Carmen’s 
hand; then there was a seal, which he did not think 
could have been tampered with. Besides, the man had 
only had it for a minute or two, and if he had opened 


70 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


it, would probably have taken something out instead 
of putting something in. Foster decided that he was 
mistaken about its size and returned it to his pocket. 

Then he wanted a cigarette and took out the case 
he had got in the fur coat. Since he had left the coat 
in Montreal, the case was the only record of his ad¬ 
venture on the train, and he wondered whether he 
would ever be able to restore it to its owner and specu¬ 
lated languidly about the man. As the latter knew his 
name, it was strange that he had not communicated 
with him at the Windsor, as he had promised. He had 
obviously not been attacked, because there had been 
nothing about it in the Canadian newspapers. The 
thing was puzzling, but after all it did not concern 
Foster much and he thought about something else. 

It was late when he arrived at Newcastle and went 
to an hotel. There was fog and rain next morning, 
and he saw very little of the town, which seemed filled 
with smoke. Taking a tram-car that carried him past 
rows of dingy buildings and shops where lights twin¬ 
kled, he got out at the corner of a narrow street that 
ran back into the haze. After looking at the address 
on the packet, he plunged into the gloom beside a row 
of tall, sooty buildings. There was no pavement, and 
here and there a cart stood beneath an opening in the 
wall. The buildings were apparently warehouses, but 
some of the doors had brass plates and lights shone in 
the upper windows. By and by he found the number 
he wanted and entered a dirty arch, inside which a 
few names were painted on the wall. Graham’s was 
not there, but he went up the steps to inquire at the 
first office he reached. 

The lower stories were used as a warehouse and he 


THE PACKET 


7 i 


came to the top landing before he saw a name that 
seemed to be Danish or Scandinavian painted on a 
door. Going in, he knocked on the counter. The 
office was small and shabby and smelt of bacon, which 
he thought indicated that its occupant dealt in pro¬ 
visions, but he could not see much because of a glass 
partition. When he was getting impatient, an old man 
came to the counter. 

“Can you tell me if there’s a Mr. Graham in this 
building?” Foster asked. 

“Yes, he’s here,” said the other. “What do you 
want?” 

Foster said he had brought a packet from Canada, 
and the old man, who looked rather hard at him, lifted 
a flap in the counter and told him to pass through. 
A door in the partition opened as he advanced and an¬ 
other man beckoned him to come in. It looked as if 
the latter had heard what had passed, but this saved an 
explanation and Foster, who asked if he was Graham, 
put the packet on a table. There was not much else 
in the small, dusty room, except a cupboard fitted with 
pigeon-holes, a desk, and a safe. 

“This is from Miss Austin of Gardner’s Crossing,” 
he remarked. 

Graham glanced at the packet carelessly, as if he did 
not consider it of much importance, and Foster felt 
puzzled. The fellow was not as old as Carmen’s 
father, but Foster thought there was nothing about 
him that would attract a girl used to admiration, as 
Carmen was. Pie was certainly not handsome and had, 
on the whole, a commonplace look, while he was obvi¬ 
ously in a small way of business. 

“Thank you,” he said. “It seems you have been to 


72 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Edinburgh. We had a branch there, but closed it re¬ 
cently. Newcastle has more facilities for importing 
our goods. I’m afraid you have been put to some 
trouble.” 

Foster replied that he did not mind this, since he had 
promised Miss Austin to bring the packet and she was 
a friend of his, but although he studied the man’s face 
saw nothing to indicate that he was interested. 

“Are you staying here?” he asked, and when Foster 
told him that he was going back as soon as he could, 
resumed: “If you had been staying, I would have been 
glad to take you about the town; but, after all, there’s 
nothing much in the way of amusement going on. I 
might arrange to meet you in the afternoon, but must 
now finish some letters for the Continental mail.” 

Foster said he could not wait and went out, feeling 
that the other was pleased to get rid of him. Graham 
was obviously a small importer of provisions, and he 
could not see why the girl in Edinburgh had warned 
him to post the packet. Carmen’s reason for sending 
such a man something she valued was impossible to 
discern. 

This, however, was not Foster’s business, and after 
lunch he caught a train to Hexham and, finding he 
could get no farther, spent the night in the old Border 
town. 


VIII 


AN OFFER OF HELP 

TT rained and the light was going when Foster sat in 
a window seat of the library at the Garth. He was 
alone, but did not mind this. The Featherstones 
treated him as one of the family; he was free to do 
what he liked, and Alice had just gone away, after 
talking to him for half an hour. Lighting a cigarette, 
he mused and looked about. 

Outside, the firs rose, black and dripping, above the 
wet drive. Between their trunks he saw the river, 
stained with peat, brawling among the stones, and the 
streaks of foam that stretched across a coffee-colored 
pool. Then a few boggy fields ran back into the mist 
that hung about the hills. A red fire threw a soft glow 
about the library. The room was somewhat shabby 
but spacious. Rows of old books in stained bindings, 
which Foster thought nobody read, faded into the 
gloom at its other end. It was warm and quiet, and he 
found it a comfortable retreat. 

He had now been a fortnight at the Garth and did 
not want to leave. Featherstone and his wife obvi¬ 
ously wished him to stay; he was grateful for the 
welcome they had given him, and felt as if he belonged 
to the place. What Alice thought was not clear, but 
she treated him with a quiet friendliness that he found 
singularly pleasant. By and by he began to wonder 
73 


74 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


why Lawrence had not written, particularly as he 
had brought away a bag of his. Foster had one like 
it, and as both had its owner's initials stamped out¬ 
side, he imagined the baggage agent had been deceived 
by the F when he affixed the check. Lawrence's bag, 
however, had his name engraved upon the lock. 

Foster sat down in a big chair by the fire, and imag¬ 
ined he fell asleep, because it had got nearly dark with¬ 
out his noticing it when the opening of the door roused 
him. Looking up, he saw Featherstone come in with 
a letter in his hand. The post did not arrive until the 
afternoon. 

“Ah!” he said, “you have heard from Lawrence.” 

“No, but the letter is about him,” Featherstone 
replied, and sitting down opposite, was silent for a 
few moments. His pose was slack and he looked as if 
he had got a shock. 

“I don’t see how you can help, but perhaps you had 
better know how matters are,” he resumed and gave 
the letter to Foster. 

It was short, but Foster, who was surprised and 
disturbed, understood his host’s alarm. Daly had 
written from Hexham, asking, or rather summoning, 
P'eatherstone to meet him there next day, although he 
stated that if this was impossible, he would arrive at 
the Garth in the evening. There was a threat in the 
intimation that it would be to Lawrence’s advantage 
if Featherstone saw him soon. 

“Well,” said Foster dryly, “it looks as if our plot 
had succeeded better than we thought. We certainly 
didn’t expect the fellow would follow me to England.” 

Featherstone did not seem to understand, and Foster 
remembered that, with the object of saving him anx- 


AN OFFER OF FIELF 


75 


iety, he had said nothing about Daly’s having ex¬ 
torted money from Lawrence in Canada. He now 
explained the situation in as few words as possible. 

“But Lawrence ought to have told me!” Feather- 
stone exclaimed. 

“I don’t know that it would have been of much 
use. You see, Lawrence meant to put Daly off the 
track, and if he failed in this, to fight. When I heard 
of it, I quite agreed.” 

“But he can’t fight,” Featherstone objected in a 
strained voice. “I’d have urged him to do so, if it had 
been possible. We’re not cowards.” 

“Why is it impossible?” 

“Don’t you know?” Featherstone asked with some 
surprise. 

“I know my partner’s in trouble; that’s all.” 

Featherstone hesitated, as if he wanted to take the 
other into his confidence, but shrank from doing so. 
Then he said with forced quietness: “If this rogue 
knows as much as I suspect, he can get my son ar¬ 
rested.” 

“On a serious charge? I don’t ask what it is.” 

“It would mean a long imprisonment, to say nothing 
of the humiliation,” Featherstone answered brokenly, 
and was silent for a minute with the firelight on his 
tense face. Then he went on with an effort: “I must 
tell you what I can. Lawrence in a desperate moment 
injured, I had better call it robbed, a relative of ours. 
The boy had got into difficulties, but hitherto, although 
he had been a fool, there was a certain generosity in his 
rashness. He was very hard pressed—I have seen 
that since—but I can make no excuse for what he did.” 

“He made good afterwards,” Foster interposed. 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


76 

“We tried to think so, but it looks as if one can’t 
make good. The punishment for a wrong done, or 
consented to, must be borne. Well, when I learned 
the truth I went to the man my son had robbed and 
offered to repay him. He said he would take no 
money, for reasons that I ought to grasp, and sent me 
away afraid, because I knew he was hard and very 
just.” 

Featherstone paused, and Foster, who murmured a 
few words of awkward sympathy, waited until he re¬ 
sumed : “I am a magistrate, pledged to do my duty, 
but I helped my boy to escape, and the man I was 
afraid of did nothing, though he knew. After a time, 
I went to him again, and he gave me to understand 
that he would not interfere so long as Lawrence stayed 
away, but must be free to take the proper line if he 
came back. It’s plain now that he knew my son’s 
faults and meant to give him the chance of overcoming 
them by hard work in Canada. At last, when he was 
very ill, he sent for me and said I could let Lawrence 
know he was forgiven.” 

“Ah!” said Foster, “now I understand what my 
partner meant.” 

“This was not long before you came,” Featherstone 
continued. “It was a wonderful relief to know the 
danger was over, and then you told us how Lawrence 
had grown out of his folly and become a useful man. 
Although we longed to see him, our satisfaction was 
complete. Now this letter comes, and I fear my wife 
is unable to bear the strain again.” 

Foster was moved by his distress. Featherstone 
was proud and honorable, and it must have cost him 
much to help his son to steal away. Indeed, Foster 


AN OFFER OF HELP 


77 


thought what he had done then would always trouble 
him, and after all it had proved useless. The worst 
was that his sensitive uprightness might make him an 
easy victim of the unscrupulous adventurer. But 
Foster did not mean him to be victimized. As a rule, 
he was rather humorous than dramatic, but he got up 
and stood with his hands clenched. 

“This thing touches us both, sir. Lawrence is your 
son, but he’s my friend, and I’ve got to see him 
through, which warrants my giving you the best ad¬ 
vice I can. Very well, you must show a bold front 
to Daly; to begin.with you can’t go to Hexham.” 

Featherstone gave him a grateful glance. He felt 
dejected and desperate, but Foster looked comfortingly 
resolute. At first he had welcomed him for his son’s 
sake, but had come to like him for himself. 

“No,” he agreed. “I can’t go; but that doesn’t 
help us; because he’ll come here.” 

“Yes; he must be met. But do you know how he 
came to learn about the matter?” 

“I don’t, but my relative,, who was interested in 
politics and social schemes, had a secretary. I can’t 
remember his name, but this might be the fellow.” 

“Then it’s curious he didn’t get on Lawrence’s track 
before. Anyway, he must be met with the bluff direct 
now.” 

“How can he be bluffed?” Featherstone asked with 
a hopeless gesture. “He can have my son arrested if 
I don’t agree to his demands.” 

“He would first have to tell the police all he knew, 
and as soon as he did this his hold on you would be 
gone. Then they’d ask why he’d kept the secret, 
which would be remarkably hard to answer, although 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


78 

lie might perhaps take the risk out of malice if he saw 
you meant to be firm. For all that, you must be firm; 
you can’t buy him off. He’d come back later with a 
fresh demand. Would your estate stand the strain?” 

“My wife and daughter would make any sacrifice 
for Lawrence’s sake.” 

“The sacrifice would benefit this bloodsucker, which 
is a different thing,” Foster rejoined. “Then, even if 
you impoverished your family, you’d only put off the 
reckoning, which would come when the fellow had 
taken all you’d got. In short, he must be bluffed off 
now.” 

He sat down and pondered and there was silence 
for some minutes. It had got dark and he heard the 
steady patter of the rain. He knew he had undertaken 
a difficult task, and felt daunted because he could not 
see his way. Still, it looked as if the happiness of 
these charming people, and perhaps his partner’s fu¬ 
ture, depended upon him. If that were so, he must 
not fail them. 

“Well,” he said by and by, “my opinion is that Daly 
thinks Lawrence is here, so to speak within his reach, 
which must be a strong encouragement. If he learns 
the truth, he’ll, no doubt, go back to Canada and get 
on his track. I’d like to set him searching up and 
down Great Britain. There would be something 
amusing in his wasting his time and money, but at 
present I don’t see how it could be done. However, 
we have until to-morrow to think of a plan.” 

Featherstone left him soon afterwards and he stayed 
in the library until dinner, which was a melancholy 
function. It was necessary to appear undisturbed 
while the servants were about, and he envied his 


AN OFFER OF HELP 


79 


friends’ fine self-control. These people had courage 
and when they talked carelessly about things of no 
importance he did his best to play up. Still, although 
they sometimes laughed, their amusement sounded 
forced, there was a curious feeling of tension, and he 
thought Mrs. Featherstone once or twice showed signs 
of strain. 

When the meal was over he made an excuse for 
leaving them alone, but some time afterwards Alice 
came into the hall, where he sat quietly thinking. She 
was calm, but he saw she had heard about the threat¬ 
ened danger. He got up as she advanced, but she 
beckoned him to sit down. 

“My father has told me about the letter, and I under¬ 
stand you know,” she said. 

“I wish I knew what ought to be done! It’s an 
awkward matter. To tell the truth, it bothers me.” 

Alice sat down, shielding her face from the fire with 
her hand. 

“You mean you feel you ought to put it right?” 

“Something of the kind,” said Foster, forcing a 
smile. “In a sense, of course, that’s presumptuous; 
but then, you see, I’m in your brother’s debt.” 

“You like to pay your debts,” Alice remarked, fixing 
a level glance on him. 

“When I can; but that’s not all. I’m not in Law¬ 
rence’s debt alone,” Foster answered with some diffi¬ 
dence. “I came over here, a stranger, ignorant of 
your ideas and customs, and you made me welcome. 
Of course, if I had jarred you, you wouldn’t have let 
me know; but there are degrees of hospitality.” 

Alice smiled. “You needn’t labor your excuses for 
wanting to help us, and you are not a stranger now. 


8 o 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


You must have understood this when my father showed 
you the letter.” 

“Thank you,” Foster replied with feeling, and was 
silent for the next few moments. Alice, who was 
proud and reserved, trusted him, and he must some¬ 
how justify her confidence. He had a vague plan in 
his mind, but it needed working out. 

“But we must be practical,” she resumed. “Can 
you help? You must see that there is nobody else 
who can.” 

Foster made a sign of agreement, for it was plain 
that Featherstone could not tell his friends about his 
trouble. 

“I begin to think I might; but although I haven’t 
quite made my plans yet, I see some danger. Would 
you take a risk for your brother’s sake?” 

The girl’s eyes sparkled, and he saw that she had 
Lawrence’s reckless courage. He had heard his part¬ 
ner laugh when they faced starvation on the frozen 
trail. 

“I would take any risk to save him or punish the 
blackmailer.” 

“Very well. I rather think your father will leave 
things to me, and I have a half-formed plan. There 
ought to be some humor in the plot, if I can work it 
out. Daly’s plainly convinced that your brother’s 
here, and I don’t see why he shouldn’t be encouraged 
to stick to his opinion. In fact, the longer he looks 
for Lawrence, the more amusing the thing will get. Of 
course, he may turn spiteful when he finds he has been 
tricked, but he, no doubt, means to do all the harm he 
can already. However, you must give me until to¬ 
morrow.” 


AN OFFER OF HELP 


81 


Alice got up and when he rose said quietly, but with 
something in her voice that thrilled him: “I think 
you like my mother and she knows I meant to talk to 
you. Lawrence is very dear to her and if he were 
dragged back into disgrace, now when we thought it 
was all forgotten and he has made a new start in 
Canada, I am not sure she could bear the shock. There 
is nobody else who could help us and we trust to you.” 

“Then I must try to deserve it,” Foster answered 
with a bow. “But what about your old servant, John? 
Have you much confidence in him ?” 

The girl’s tense face relaxed. “In a sense, John is 
one of the family, but if you want his help, you must 
use some tact and not expect Western frankness. He 
is remarkably discreet.” 

Foster opened the door for her, and then went to the 
gun-room, where he found John, who had driven him 
from the station when he arrived, pouring out some 
Rangoon oil. Sitting down carelessly, he lighted a 
cigarette. 

“I understand you were rather fond of my partner, 
Lawrence Featherstone,” he remarked. 

“If I may say so, sir, I was, A very likable young 
gentleman.” 

“I expect you know he got into trouble.” 

John looked pained at his bluntness. “I heard some¬ 
thing about it, sir. Perhaps Mr. Lawrence was a little 
wild. It sometimes happens in very good families.” 

“Just so,” said Foster. “Would you be surprised 
to hear he hadn’t got out of that trouble yet?” 

“Not surprised exactly; I was afraid of something 
like it, sir.” 


82 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Foster knew this was as much as he would admit, but 
felt that he could trust the man. 

“Very well. My partner’s in some danger, and with 
Mr. Featherstone’s permission I must try to see him 
through, but may want your help. I suppose you’re 
willing?” 

“Yes, sir. If it’s for Mr. Lawrence, you can take 
it that I am.” 

“You can drive an automobile pretty well?” 

“Not like a professional, sir, but now we don’t keep 
a chauffeur I often drive to the station.” 

“That’s satisfactory. I may want the car to-mor¬ 
row evening, but nobody else must know about this.” 

“Very good, sir,” said John. “When you’re ready 
you can give me your instructions; they’ll go no fur¬ 
ther.” 

Then he dipped a rag in the oil and began to rub a 
gun, and Foster went out, feeling satisfied. It was 
plain that he could rely upon the old fellow, who he 
thought was unflinchingly loyal to the Featherstones. 
After all, it was something to have the respect and 
affection of one’s servant. 


IX 


THE FALSE TRAIL 

W HEN Foster got up next morning he had made 
his plan, and spent ten minutes explaining it to 
John. The old fellow understood his orders, and al¬ 
though he listened with formal deference, the faint 
twinkle in his eyes showed that he approved. After 
breakfast, Foster asked Featherstone to come out on 
the terrace and while they walked about indicated the 
line he thought it best to take. 

Featherstone agreed, but expressed some misgivings. 
“There may be danger in putting Daly on the track, 
and after all Fm only delaying a crisis that must be 
faced/’ 

“The longer it’s delayed, the better; something may 
happen in the meantime,” Foster replied. “Then, you 
see, the track is false. When the fellow finds you 
obstinate, he’ll try to get hold of Lawrence, particu¬ 
larly as he got money from him before; but as he 
believes Lawrence is in England, he’ll have some trou¬ 
ble. The advantage is that he won’t be able to bother 
you while all his time and energy’s occupied by follow¬ 
ing me.” 

“That is possible,” said Featherstone. “But you 
may find it difficult to get away from the rogue, since 
you must give him some kind of a clew.” 

Foster laughed. “I don’t mind the difficulty, sir. 
In fact, I imagine, I’m going to enjoy the chase.” 

83 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


84 

“There’s a point that must be thought of. If he 
goes to the police when he can’t find Lawrence, it would 
be awkward. I should be no better off than I am 
now.” 

“It’s unlikely. So long as Daly sees the smallest 
chance of extorting money he’ll keep his secret. The 
reason’s obvious.” 

“Well,” said Featherstone, with feeling, “you are 
doing us a service we can’t repay. I frankly don’t like 
the plan, because it can only work at your expense, but 
it will give us time and I can think of nothing else.” 

Foster left him with a feeling of pleasant excite¬ 
ment. He was doing his host a favor and this was 
something, but the adventure appealed to him for other 
reasons. He had, in Canada, found scope for his 
energy in profitable work, but there was a reckless vein 
in him, and it was exhilarating to feel that he could 
now follow his bent, without being hampered by the 
necessity for making the undertaking pay. After all, 
there was not much enjoyment in what one did for 
money, and he thought he was going to get some 
amusement out of the game. Still, he did not want 
to leave the Garth. Alice had treated him with a quiet 
friendliness he valued and he began to hope he was 
making some progress in her good opinion. It was, 
however, comforting to feel that he was going to save 
her pain, and for the rest of the day he was conscious 
of a cheerfulness he tried to hide in view of the anx¬ 
iety the others had to bear. 

In the evening John put Lawrence’s traveling bag 
under a small table near the door in the hall and ar¬ 
ranged the cloth so that it hung over and covered 
part of the bag but did not hide it altogether. He 


THE FALSE TRAIL 


85 

took some trouble, and when he was satisfied it looked 
as if the bag had been carelessly placed where it would 
be out of sight but ready to be picked up quickly if its 
owner meant to leave the house in a hurry. Moreover, 
if anybody thought it worth while to look under the 
table, the letters L. F. could be distinguished and 
Lawrence’s name was. engraved upon the lock. Foster, 
having learned from the railway guide when Daly 
would arrive, had arranged that he should be left alone 
for a minute or two in the hall. If the fellow made 
good use of the time, so much the better. 

After putting on a gray waterproof, leggings, and 
strong boots, Foster stood at the open door of his room 
until he heard Daly come in. There was silence for 
the next minute, and then footsteps echoed along a 
passage as the visitor was taken to the library, where 
Featherstone would receive him, and Foster pulled out 
his watch. As there was no town for some distance 
and Daly would not expect to be asked to stay, he no 
doubt intended to return to the station across the moor, 
where he could catch the last train. Allowing for the 
long drive, he could not stop long at the Garth; but 
Foster must give Featherstone time enough. The lat¬ 
ter had a rather difficult part, because he must allow 
Daly to state his terms, and not reject them until the 
last moment. He was too honest and too proud to dis¬ 
semble well, but he was not a fool and there was much 
at stake. 

At length, Foster stole quietly down the stairs, and 
smiled as he remarked that the cloth on the small table 
had been pulled aside. This had been done cautiously, 
but a fold that overhung the edge was not in quite its 
former position. Then he picked up the bag and went 


86 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


out, making noise enough to be heard in the library as 
he shut the hall door. When he went down the steps 
he saw the lights of the car that had brought Daly 
glimmer on the wet gravel of the drive. The back of 
the car was next him, for it had been turned round 
ready to start. Then Featherstone’s car rolled up qui¬ 
etly, and Foster was getting in when he stopped and 
felt his heart beat as a slender figure appeared on the 
terrace. He turned, with his foot on the step, and 
waited until Alice came up. 

“I couldn’t let you go without a last word of 
thanks,” she said. “It is splendid! We can’t forget.” 

“I believe I’m going to have an amusing trip,” Fos¬ 
ter replied. “Then, you see, the Garth is a remark¬ 
ably nice place to come back to, and there’s the pleasure 
of looking forward to my return. But I’m unselfish 
enough to hope I won’t have that satisfaction all to 
myself.” 

Alice smiled, but there was something very friendly 
in her look and her voice was unusually soft. 

“You can always be sure of your welcome and we 
will miss you when you are away. I very sincerely 
wish you good luck.” 

Foster was seldom theatrical, but felt the occasion 
justified his doing something unusual. John, having 
already grasped the wheel, had his back to them, and 
Foster took the girl’s hand, which rested on the rail, 
and kissed it. She made a little abrupt movement, and 
he thought he saw a tinge of color in her face, but 
she did not look angry and he felt a strange exultant 
thrill. 

“Make as much noise as you can,” he said to John. 

The car backed across the rattling gravel, and the 


THE FALSE TRAIL 


87 

girl’s figure faded into the gloom; then John turned 
the wheel and they shot forward down the drive. The 
lights of the other car vanished, there was a splash 
as they swung into the wet road, and Foster pulled the 
rug around him when he had struck a match and noted 
the time. 

“You needn’t hurry her too much,” he said. “If I 
catch the train by about a minute, it is all I want.” 

“Very good, sir. If I may remark, the other’s a 
powerful car.” 

“I don’t think they’ll try to overtake us until we’re 
near the station,” Foster answered with a laugh. “But 
we can’t allow it then.” 

“No, sir,” said John. “I quite understand.” 

They ran down the valley at a moderate speed, and 
Foster, looking around when they came to a straight 
piece of road, was not surprised to see a gleam of light 
in the distance. He lost it a few moments afterwards, 
but it flashed out again every now and then, until they 
plunged into a thick fir wood. They were about half- 
way to the station, but the light had not got much 
nearer. He had, however, not expected it to do so, 
because he thought Daly would be satisfied if he kept 
his supposititious victim in sight. The danger would 
arise when they got near the station, and whether they 
overcame it or not depended on John’s coolness and 
nerve. Foster thought the man would not fail him. 

It was a dark night and a damp haze thickened the 
gloom. Stone walls and ragged thorn bushes leaped 
up in the glare of the lamps and faded, but one could 
see nothing outside the bright beam. This was a dis¬ 
advantage, because Foster could not tell where he was 
and much depended on his reaching the station with 


88 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


exactly the right time to spare. He was rather anxious 
about it, since his plan would be spoiled at the start if 
the train were late. By striking a match in the shelter 
of the screen, he could see his watch, but it did not seem 
prudent to distract John’s attention often. 

By and by the walls vanished and withered heath, 
glistening with damp, rolled past the car. They were 
running through a peat moss, with a deep ditch on one 
side, and climbing an incline, to judge by the heavy 
throb of the engine. Shallow ruts, filled with water, 
ran on in the blaze ahead and showers splashed about 
the wheels. Outside the bright beam the darkness 
was impenetrable. Foster, however, was conscious of a 
pleasant thrill. If one looked at the thing in one way, 
he was plunging into trouble that might have been 
avoided; but he had been prudent long enough and 
found a strange satisfaction in being rash. Besides, 
no matter what difficulties he got into, he would be 
repaid by the memory of the look Alice had given him. 
The way the warm color crept into her face had stirred 
him as nothing else had done. Anyhow, he had started 
on the adventure and was going to see it through. 

After a time, they sped across a bridge, where a burn 
splashed noisily down a ravine, and John asked: “How 
long have we got, sir?” 

“Ten minutes, if the train’s punctual.” 

“And where’s the other car, sir?” 

Foster, whose eyes were dazzled by the match he had 
struck, looked round and saw a misty flash in the 
dark. 

“About half a mile behind, I think.” 

“Very good, sir. It all depends upon the train now. 
She’s not often late.” 


THE FALSE TRAIL 


89 

The throb of the engine quickened. and struck a 
sharper note, and Foster felt the car leap forward up 
the hill. Turning in his seat, he watched the flickering 
gleam behind and saw it grow fainter and then grad¬ 
ually get bright. It looked as if the pursuers had lost 
sight of the front car’s tail lamp and were increasing 
their speed. 

“They’re creeping up,” he said to John, who did not 
reply. 

Foster thought they had now reached the top of the 
moor, and as they swung up and down across the 
heathy undulations a streak of light flashed out in the 
distance. 

“That’s the train,” he said. 

“Yes, sir. You can see her for two or three miles.” 

Then there was a change in the sound and motion, 
and Foster knew the engine was running all-out. 
Showers of small stones and water flew up about the 
wheels and the wind whipped his face, but the follow¬ 
ing light was a little nearer when he looked behind. 
The other car had reached the summit and it would be 
a close race, but he thought they could keep their lead 
long enough. Then he looked ahead and saw that 
the bright streak he had noticed had gone. The fire¬ 
man had, no doubt, closed the furnace door, but the 
lights from the carriage windows twinkled faintly 
across the heath. He could not see the station, but 
it was obvious that he had not much time to spare. 

A few moments later they swept across a low rise 
and a faint blur of buildings loomed among a cluster 
of lights. They were now going furiously and he 
seized the side of the car as they swung round a curve. 
He felt the near wheels sink as they crushed through 


go 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


spongy sod, and the car tilted, but they got round, and 
there was a sudden jar when the station lay some fifty 
yards ahead. Foster jumped out before the car quite 
stopped. 

“Round with her! I’m all right,” he said. 

“Very good, sir. If I might remark-” 

Foster heard nothing more as he ran up the road, 
carrying the bag. The train was very near; he could 
hear the roar it made in a shallow cutting, but as he 
reached the station the sound ceased and the engine 
rolled past. He took a ticket to Edinburgh, and hurry¬ 
ing across the bridge, picked a compartment that had 
another occupant and stood at the door, where he could 
see the steps he had come down. There was nobody 
on the bridge and he seemed to be the only passenger, 
but a porter began to drag some packages from the van 
and leisurely put them on a truck. Foster quivered 
with impatience as he watched the fellow. If he kept 
the train another minute, it might be too late. Then 
he glanced back at the bridge. Nobody came down 
the steps yet, but the porter had not finished, and one 
could still catch the train. 

He crossed the floor to the opposite window, from 
which he could see the booking office, but as he losed 
the strap he felt a jerk. Then the engine panted and 
the wheels began to turn. He ran back to the other 
door, but there was only the porter on the platform and 
the lamps were sliding past. Pulling up the window, 
he turned to the passenger with a forced smile. 

“Sorry if I disturbed you! The man I was looking 
for hasn’t come.” 

In the meantime, John turned the car round and 
drove back to the bend. The road was narrow, but 



THE FALSE TRAIL 


9 i 


there was room for two vehicles to pass, .provided that 
both kept well to the proper side. John, however, took 
the middle and did not swerve much when a dazzling 
beam swept round the curve. He blew his horn; there 
was an answering shriek from an electric hooter, and 
then a savage shout. John, who was near the left side 
now, but not so close as he ought to have been, freed 
the clutch and used the brake, and the other car, miss¬ 
ing him by an inch or two, plunged into the wet grass 
across the road. As he stopped he saw the boggy 
soil fly up and the lamps sink towards the ground. 
Jumping off, he found the car had brought up in front 
of a wall, with the front wheels buried to the axle. 
The driver and a very angry man in a soft hat were 
getting out. 

“You nearly wrecked us,” said the latter. “What 
d’you mean by fooling about the middle of the road 
like that?” 

“I wasn’t quite in the middle, sir. It’s an awkward 
curve and your lights dazzled me.” 

“Where’s the man you brought?” 

“I imagine he’s caught the train, sir,” John an¬ 
swered with imperturbable calm. 

He thought the other came near to knocking him 
down, for he clenched his fist, but after a savage ex¬ 
clamation went back to the car. 

“The engifie won’t move her. How are we going to 
get her out?” he said. 

“I could give you a pull, sir,” John replied with 
respectful gravity. “They keep a rope at the station 
for shunting. Perhaps you had better send the driver, 


X 


THE DROVE ROAD 

"Cp OSTER spent the next day lounging about Edin- 
burgh and looking out for Daly, whom he had 
expected to follow him. He, however, saw nothing of 
the man, and felt half disappointed, because he missed 
the excitement of the chase. It was too cold and wet 
to roam the streets with much enjoyment, there was 
no good play at the theaters, and he had seen picture 
palaces in Canada. Moreover, he had led an active 
life, and having nothing to do soon began to get irk¬ 
some. It was curious that he had never felt bored at 
the Garth, even when he scarcely saw Alice during the 
day, but then the Garth had a peculiar charm. It was 
possible that Daly had gone back there, and he had 
been a fool to leave. 

He was sitting in the hotel smoking-room next 
morning when a stranger came up and sat down close 
by. The man had a quiet, thoughtful air, and lighted 
his pipe. There was nothing about him to indicate 
his rank or occupation, and Foster wondered what he 
wanted. 

“I hope you won’t object to my asking if you’re a 
Canadian?” he said. 

“I don’t know if I object or not. Anyhow, I’m 
English.” 

‘‘But perhaps you have been in Canada,” the stran¬ 
ger remarked politely. 


9 2 


THE DROVE ROAD 


93 


Foster looked hard at him. ‘‘I haven’t the pleasure 
of your acquaintance, but had better hint that you’re 
wasting time if you’re a friend of Daly’s.” 

The stranger smiled and Foster saw that he had been 
incautious. “I don’t know the gentleman.” 

“Then what is your business?” 

“If you insist on knowing, I’m connected with the 
police.” 

“Well,” said Foster, “I’ll pay you a compliment by 
stating that I wouldn’t have imagined it; but I don’t 
understand what the police have to do with me.” 

“It’s very possible that they have nothing to do with 
you, but you can perhaps make that plain. You signed 
the visitor’s book John Foster, which doesn’t quite 
correspond with the letters on your bag.” 

“Ah!” said Foster, “I begin to understand. No 
doubt, you noticed Lawrence Featherstone’s name on 
the lock, and the Canadian Pacific label ?” 

“I did,” the other admitted with humorous dryness. 

Foster pondered. On the whole, he was glad he had 
registered in his proper name, though he had been 
tempted to give Featherstone’s, in case Daly made 
inquiries. He had, however, decided that the latter 
probably thought they were both in Great Britain and 
would expect them to keep together. He did not doubt 
that his visitor belonged to the police, because an 
impostor would be easily found out. 

“Featherstone’s my partner and I took his baggage 
by mistake when we left a small Canadian town,” he 
said, and added after a pause: “I expect the explana¬ 
tion sounds rather lame.” 

The other smiled, but Foster felt he was being sub¬ 
jected to a very close scrutiny. Although sensible of 


94 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


some annoyance, he felt inclined to like the man, who 
presently resumed: “You have been in Edinburgh 
before.” 

“For a day; I left in the evening and went to New¬ 
castle.” 

“To Newcastle?” said the other thoughtfully. “Did 
you stay there?” 

“I did not,” said Foster, thinking frankness was 
best. “I went back to a country house in Northum¬ 
berland that belongs to my partner’s father. Law¬ 
rence Featherstone and I own a sawmill in Canada, but 
at present I’m taking a holiday in the Old Country.” 

He could not tell if the man was satisfied or not, for 
he asked abruptly: “Who is the Mr. Daly you men¬ 
tioned ?” 

“I really don’t know. It looks as if he were some¬ 
thing of a blackmailer, and I must admit that I was 
trying to keep out of his way.” 

The man pondered for a minute, and then getting up 
gave Foster a card. 

“Very well; I don’t think I need keep you. You 
have my address if you should want to communicate 
with me.” 

He went out and Foster thought he had not handled 
the situation with much skill. It was a mistake to 
mention Daly and perhaps to state that he had been to 
^Newcastle. He thought the man looked interested 
when he heard this. Then it was curious that he 
seemed to imagine Foster might want to write to him; 
but he began to see a possible reason for his being 
watched. Hulton had, no' doubt, sent somebody over 
to inquire about the stolen bonds, and if the man had 
discovered anything important, he might have asked 


THE DROVE ROAD 


95 


the help of the police. In this case, the movements of 
strangers from Canada would be noted. The trouble 
was that Foster could not be frank with the police, 
because Lawrence’s secret must be carefully guarded. 

In the afternoon he entered a fashionable tea-room 
and sat for a time in a corner. The room was divided 
into quiet nooks by Moorish arches, from which lamps 
of an antique pattern hung by chains and threw down 
a soft red glow. Heavy imitation Eastern curtains 
deadened the hum of voices and rattle of cups. The 
air was warm and scented, the light dim, and Foster, 
who had often camped in the snow, felt amused by the 
affectation of sensual luxury as he ate iced cakes and 
languidly watched the people. He could only see two 
or three men, one of whom he had noticed at the hotel 
and afterwards passed in the street. This was prob¬ 
ably a coincidence, but it might have a meaning, and 
he moved back behind the arch that cut off his corner. 
When he next looked about, the fellow had gone. 
There were, however, a number of pretty, fashionably- 
dressed girls, and he remarked the warm color in their 
faces and the clearness of their voices. The Scottish 
capital seemed to be inhabited by handsome women. 

He was, however, somewhat surprised when one 
came towards him and he recognized the girl he had 
met at Hawick station. He had hardly expected her 
to claim his acquaintance, as she obviously meant 
to do. 

“You seem to be fond of Edinburgh,” she remarked, 
sitting down at his table. 

“It’s an interesting city. I’m a stranger and igno¬ 
rant of your etiquette; but would I be permitted to 
send for some cakes and tea ?” 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


96 

“I think not,” she answered, smiling. “For one 
thing, I must go in a minute.” 

Foster waited. The girl had good manners, and he 
thought it unlikely that she was willing to begin a 
flirtation with a man she did not know; besides she 
had stopped him sending for the tea. She was pretty, 
and had a certain air of refinement, but it was a dainty 
prettiness that somehow harmonized with the exotic 
luxury of the room. This was a different thing from 
Alice Featherstone’s rather stately beauty, which 
found an appropriate background in the dignified aus¬ 
terity of the Garth. 

“Are you enjoying your stay here?” she resumed. 

“I begin to think I’ve had enough. The climate’s 
not very cheerful, and the people seem suspicious about 
strangers.” 

“The Scots are proverbially cautious,” she answered 
carelessly, but Foster thought he saw a gleam of inter¬ 
est in her eyes, “I suppose somebody has been bother¬ 
ing you with questions ?” 

“Yes; as I’m of a retiring character, it annoys me. 
Besides, I really think it’s quite unjustified. Do I 
look dangerous?” 

“No,” she said with a twinkle, “if you did, I 
shouldn’t have ventured to speak to you. On the con¬ 
trary, you have a candid air that ought to banish dis¬ 
trust. Of course, I don’t know if it’s deceptive.” 

“You have to know people for some time before you 
understand them, but, on the whole, I imagine I’m 
harmless,” Foster replied. “That’s what makes it 
galling. If I had, for example, a part in some dark 
plot, I couldn’t resent being watched. As it happens, 
I merely want to get as much innocent pleasure as 


THE DROVE ROAD 


97 

possible out of a holiday, and feel vexed when people 
won’t let me.” 

The girl gave him a quick, searching look, and then 
said carelessly, “One can sympathize with you; it is 
annoying to be watched. But after all, Edinburgh’s 
rather dull just now, and the cold winds are trying to 
strangers.” 

“Is this a hint that I ought to go away?” 

“Do you take hints?” she asked with a smile. 
‘Somehow I imagine you’re rather an obstinate man. 
I suppose you took the packet to Newcastle?” 

“I did,” Foster admitted in an apologetic voice. 
“You see, I promised to deliver the thing.” 

“And, of course, you kept your word! Well, that 
was very nice of you, but I wouldn’t make any rash 
promises while you stay in this country. Sometimes 
they lead one into difficulties. But I must go.” 

She left him with a friendly smile, and he sat down 
again in a thoughtful mood. It looked as if she had 
had an object in talking to him, and she had learned 
that he had gone to Newcastle and had since been 
watched. He gathered that she thought the things had 
some connection, though her remarks were guarded. 
Then she had given him another hint, which he meant 
to act upon. 

Leaving the tea-room, he walked for a short distance 
and then stopped on the pavement in Princes Street 
and looked about. It was dark, but a biting wind had 
cleared the air. At one end of the imposing street a 
confused glimmer marked the neighborhood of the 
Caledonian station, and when one looked the other way 
a long row of lights ran on, and then curving round 
and rising sharply, ended in a cluster of twinkling 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


98 

points high against the sky. The dark, blurred mass 
they gathered round was the Castle rock, and below 
it the tall spire of the Scott monument was faintly 
etched against the shadowy hollow where the gardens 
sloped away. 

Now he had resolved to leave the city, Foster felt its 
charm and half resented being, in a manner, forced to 
go, but walked on, musing on the way women had 
recently meddled with his affairs. To begin with, Car¬ 
men had given him the troublesome packet, then it was 
largely for Alice Featherstone’s sake he had embarked 
on a fresh adventure, and now the girl in the tea-room 
had warned him to leave the town. It was a privilege 
to help Alice, but the others’ interference was, so to 
speak, superfluous. A man could devote himself to 
pleasing one woman, but one was enough. 

After a few minutes he stopped and looked into a 
shop window as a man passed a neighboring lamp. It 
was Daly and the fellow moved slowly, although Fos¬ 
ter did not think he had seen him yet. He would know 
very soon and for a moment or two he felt his he^rt 
beat, but when he looked round Daly had passed. 
Foster followed and saw him enter the tea-room. This 
was disturbing, although Foster remembered that he 
had told nobody he was going there. He decided to 
leave Edinburgh as soon as he could next morning and 
bought a map of southern Scotland on his way back to 
the hotel. 

After dinner, he sat down in the smoking-room near 
a man to whom he had once or twice spoken. The 
latter was a red-faced, keen-eyed old fellow, and looked 
like a small country laird. 

“I’ve come over to see Scotland and have been long 


THE DROVE ROAD 


99 


enough in the capital,” he said. “After all, you can’t 
judge a country by its towns. What' would you 
advise ?” 

“It depends upon what ye want to see?” the man 
replied. 

“I think I’d like the moors and hills. I get enough 
of industrial activity in Ontario, and would sooner hear 
the grouse and the black-cock than shipyard hammers. 
Then I’d prefer to take my time and go on foot.” 

His companion nodded approval. “Ye have sense. 
Are ye a good walker?” 

“I have walked three hundred miles through pretty 
rough country and dragged my belongings on a hand- 
sledge.” 

“Then I think I can tell ye how to see rugged Scot¬ 
land, for the country has two different sides. Ye can 
take your choice, but ye cannot see both at once. I 
could send ye by main roads, where the tourists’ motors 
run, to the show-places, where ye would stay at smart 
hotels, with Swiss and London waiters, and learn as 
much o’ Scottish character as ye would in Lucerne or 
the Strand.” 

“I don’t think that is quite what I want. Besides, 
I haven’t much time and would sooner keep to the 
south.” 

“Then ye’ll take the high ground and go by tracks 
the moss-troopers rode, winding up the waters and 
among the fells, where there’s only cothouse clachans 
and lonely farm-towns. Ye’ll see there why the old 
Scottish stock grows firm and strong and the bit, bleak 
country breeds men who make it respected across the 
world. Man, if I had not rheumatism and some fash- 


loo CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

ious business I cannot neglect, we would take the moors 
together!” 

“You don’t seem to like the smart hotels,” Foster 
remarked, half amused. 

“I do not like the folk they harbor. The dusty 
trippers in leather coats and goggles ye meet at Mel¬ 
rose and Jedburgh are an affront to an old Scottish 
town. But a man on foot, in clothes that match the 
ling and the gray bents, gives a human touch to the 
scene, whether ye meet him by a wind-ruffled lochan or 
on the broad moor. Ye ken he has come slowly 
through the quiet hills, for the love o’ what he sees. 
But ye will not understand an old man’s havering!” 

“I think I do,” said Foster. “One learns the charm 
of the lone trail in the Canadian bush. But I have a 
map, and don’t care much where I go, so long as it’s 
somewhere south. Suppose you mark me out a route 
towards Liddesdale.” 

The man did so, and jotted down a few marginal 
notes. 

“I’m sending ye by the old drove roads,” he ex¬ 
plained. “Sometimes ye’ll find them plain enough, but 
often they’re rough green tracks, and nobody can tell 
ye when they were made. The moss-troopers wore 
them deeper when they rode with the spear and steel- 
cap to Solway sands. Afterwards came the drovers 
with their flocks and herds, the smugglers’ pack-horse 
trains, and messengers to Prince Charlie’s friends from 
Louis of France. That’s why the old road runs across 
the fell, while the turnpike keeps the valley. If ye 
follow my directions, ye’ll maybe find the link between 
industrial Scotland and the stormy past; it’s in the 


THE DROVE ROAD 


101 


cothouse and clachan the race is bred that made and 
keeps alive Glasgow and Dundee. ,, 

Foster thanked him and examined the map. It was 
clearly drawn and showed the height and natural fea¬ 
tures of the country, which was obviously rough. The 
path marked out led over the Border hills, dipped into 
winding valleys, and skirted moorland lakes. It 
seemed to draw him as he studied it, for the wilderness 
has charm, and the drove road ran through heathy 
wastes far from the smoke of factories and mining 
towns. Well, he was ready to cross the bleak uplands, 
without troubling much about the mist and rain, for 
he had faced worse winters than any Scotland knew, 
but he reflected with grim amusement that Daly would 
find the traveling rough if he got on his trail. 

There were, however, some things he needed for the 
journey, and he went out to buy them while the shops 
were open. Next morning he gave instructions that 
letters for himself and Lawrence should be sent to 
Peebles, and when the clerk objected that he could not 
forward Featherstone’s without the latter’s orders, said 
it did not matter. He had left a clew for Daly, which 
was all he wanted, but, in order to make it plainer, he 
sent the porter to the station with the bag and told 
him to wait by the Peebles train. Then he set off, 
dressed in the oldest clothes he had, wondering what 
adventures he would meet with in the wilds. 


XI 


THE POACHERS 

F OSTER left Peebles soon after his arrival and 
following the Tweed down stream to Traquair 
turned south across the hills. A road brought him to 
Yarrow, where he sat down to smoke in the shelter of 
a stone dyke by the waterside. He had no reason to 
believe that he was followed, and there were two good 
hotels beside St. Mary’s loch, which was not far off. 
But Foster did not mean to stay at good hotels and 
knew that Daly would not have much trouble in reach¬ 
ing St. Mary’s in a car if he arrived at Peebles by a 
later train. It would then be difficult to keep out of his 
way, and if he found Foster alone, he would, no doubt, 
go back to look for Lawrence at the Garth. Taking 
this for granted, Foster thought it better to put Ettrick 
Forest between himself and possible pursuit. 

It looked a lonely region on the map, and when he 
glanced south the hills loomed, dark and forbidding, 
through thin gray mist. Pools of water dotted the 
marish fields, and beyond these lay a wet, brown moss 
where wild cotton grew among the peat-hags. Plover 
were crying about the waste and a curlew’s shrill 
tremolo rang out as it flitted across the leaden sky. 
The outlook was not encouraging, but Foster picked his 
way across the bog and struck up the side of a fell. 
There was a road, but it' would take him some distance 
round. 


102 


THE POACHERS 


103 


Wiry grass twined about his feet, he sank in velvety 
green patches where the moss grew rank, and walking 
was harder when he crossed belts of withered heath. 
Here and there a gnarled thorn bush rattled its dry 
twigs in the wind; there were bits of dykes and rusty 
wire fences, but he saw no path except the winding 
tracks the sheep had made. Still Ettrick water was 
not far off, and he would strike it if he held south. 
Heavy rain met him on the summit, and after strug¬ 
gling on for a time he took shelter behind a broken 
dyke. The rain got worse and the moor was lost in 
mist a quarter of a mile away, but he heard a faint, 
hoarse sound in the haze below. He thought this was 
the roar of Ettrick or a fall on a moorland burn that 
would lead him down. 

When he began to feel cold he set off again, and 
the rain, which thinned as he went down hill, stopped 
altogether when he reached the bottom. A road ran 
beside the angry water, but the valley was deeply sunk 
in the dark fells and their summits were hidden by 
drifting mist. There was no hint of life in the dreary 
landscape except a moving patch that looked like a 
flock of sheep, and a glance at the map showed that his 
path led on across the waste to the south. It would 
be a long march to Hawick, which was the town he 
meant to reach, particularly if he went up the valley, 
until he found a road, but his director had indicated a 
clachan as his stopping-place. He understood that a 
clachan meant a hamlet, and the old fellow had said 
he would find rough but sufficient accommodation in 
what he called a change-house. It would be awkward 
if he lost the way, but this must be risked, and cross¬ 
ing the river he struck into the hills. 


104 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


He found a rough track, and presently the sky began 
to clear. Pale-blue patches opened in the thinning 
clouds, and gleams of sunshine, chased by shadow, 
touched the moor. Where they fell the brown heath 
turned red and withered fern glowed fiery yellow. The 
green road, cropped smooth by sheep and crossed by 
rills of water, swung sharply up and down, but at 
length it began a steady descent, and about four o’clock 
in the afternoon Foster stopped in the bottom of a 
deep glen. 

A few rushy fields occupied the hollow and a house 
stood in the shelter of a thin fir wood. It had mul- 
lioned windows and a porch with pillars, but looked 
old, and the walls were speckled with lichens. A gar¬ 
den stretched about it, and looking in through the iron 
rails, Foster saw gnarled fruit trees fringed with moss. 
Their branches cut against a patch of saffron sky, and 
a faint warm glow touched the front of the building. 
There was a low window at its nearer end and Foster 
saw a woman sewing by the fire. 

The house had a strangely homelike look after the 
barren moors, and Foster, feeling tired and cold, 
longed to ask for shelter. Had it been a farm, he 
might have done so, but he thought it belonged to some 
country laird and resumed his march. He never saw 
the house again, but remembered it now and then, as 
he had seen it with the fading light that shone through 
the old apple trees touching its lichened wall. 

The road led upwards and he stopped for breath 
at the summit. The glen was now shut in and the 
light going, but here and there in the distance a loch 
reflected a pale gleam. A half-moon shone above the 
hills and the silver light got brighter as he went on. 


THE POACHERS 


105 


The wind had fallen and the silence was emphasized 
by the faint splash of water. After a time, he came 
down to lower ground where broken dykes divided 
straggling fields, but there was no sign of life until as 
he turned a corner an indistinct figure vanished among 
the dry fern in the shadow of a wall. Foster thought 
this curious, particularly when he passed the spot and 
saw nobody there, but there was an opening in the 
dyke for the sheep to go through. 

A little farther on, the road ran across a field, and 
when he was near the middle he saw something move 
behind a gorse bush. Although it looked like a man’s 
head, he did not stop. Going on, as if he had seen 
nothing, until he was close to the gorse, he left the track 
and walked swiftly but softly across the grass. When 
he reached the bush a man who had been crouching 
behind it sprang to his feet. He was tall and roughly 
dressed, and looked like a shepherd or farm-hand. 

“Weel,” he said with a truculent air, “what is it ye 
want with me?” 

The question somewhat relieved Foster, who now 
noted the end of a long, thin net in the grass. 

“I was curious to see what you were doing. Then I 
meant to ask the way to Langsyke.” 

“What are ye wanting there?” 

“To stay the night. I was directed to a change- 
house where they’d take me in.” 

“They might. Ye’re a stranger, and ye’ll tak’ the 
road again the morn?” 

Foster said he meant to do so and the other pon¬ 
dered. 

“Weel, there’s a soft flow where ye might get mired 
if ye left the road, which is no’ that plain, and I could 


io6 


CARMEN'S MESSENGER 


set ye on the way, but there's a bit job I’ll hae to finish 
first.” He paused and added with a grin as he indi¬ 
cated the net: “Maybe ye hae a notion what it is.” 

“I imagine it’s connected with somebody else’s 
grouse or partridges, but that’s not my business. 
You’ll be a shilling or two richer if you show me the 
way.” 

“Then the sooner I’m finished here, the sooner we’ll 
be off, though I doot we hae fleyt the paltrig. Bide ye 
by the whinns, and when ye see me at the dyke come 
forrad with the net. If I lift my airm, ye’ll stop.” 

He went off with the end of the net, and Foster 
waited, half amused. The fellow probably wanted to 
ensure his saying nothing about the poaching by mak¬ 
ing him an accomplice, but this did not matter much. 
It was an adventure and he was anxious to find a guide. 
By the way the net unwound and slipped across the 
grass he thought there was another man at work, but 
he carried his part forward as he had been told and 
then dropped it and sat down among some rushes. 
Two indistinct figures were moving towards each 
other and he got up presently when one signaled. 
When he joined them a number of small dark objects 
showed through the net. 

“Hae!” said a man who opened the meshes, and 
added when Foster picked up two limp birds: “We’ve 
no’ done so bad.” 

Then Foster remembered the man he had seen as he 
came along the road. 

“How many of you are in the gang?” he asked. 

“There’s twa o’ us her. I’m thinking that’s a’ ye 
need ken.” 

“It’s what I meant,” said Foster apologetically. 


THE POACHERS 


107 

“Still I passed another fellow hiding, a short distance 
back.” 

The men, saying nothing, took out the birds and be¬ 
gan to roll up the net. Foster had now four partridges, 
which they seemed to expect him to carry, and was 
putting their legs together so as to hold them conven¬ 
iently when he heard a rattle of stones. Then a dark 
figure leaped down from the wall and somebody 
shouted: “Stand where ye are or I’ll put a chairge o’ 
number four in ye!” 

A leveled gun twinkled in the moonlight, and for a 
moment Foster hesitated. He hardly thought the man 
would shoot, and it would be awkward if he was ar¬ 
rested with the partridges in his hand. Springing sud¬ 
denly forward, he struck, from below upwards, with 
his stick. There was a flash and a report, but he felt 
himself unharmed and brought the stick down upon the 
gamekeeper's head. He heard the gun drop, and then 
turned and, keeping in the shadow of the wall, ran 
across the field. When he was near the opposite end, 
he saw another man waiting to cut him off, and seizing 
the top of the dyke swung himself over. He came 
down among withered fern and ran back behind the 
wall towards the spot where he had left his first antag¬ 
onist, until he struck a small, winding hollow through 
which water flowed. This seemed to offer a good hid¬ 
ing-place, but Foster knew better, although he followed 
it for a short distance. One can often hide best in the 
open and it was prudent to avoid the obvious line of 
search. Creeping out of the hollow, he made for a 
clump of rushes and felt satisfied when he lay down 
behind it. His waterproof and cap were gray, and his 


io8 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


pursuers would have to search all the field before they 
found him, unless they were lucky. 

After a few minutes, he saw them, but while one 
plunged into the hollow, the other sat on top of the 
wall. This seemed to be the fellow he had struck, and 
Foster was relieved to see he was not badly hurt. The 
man, however, occupied a commanding position, be¬ 
cause Foster’s chance of remaining unseen depended 
largely on the searcher’s height above the ground. He 
knew from experience gained in hunting that a very 
small object will hide a man so long as the line of sight 
he must avoid is nearly horizontal, but the fellow on 
the wall could see over the rushes. In consequence, 
immobility was his only resource, and he very cau¬ 
tiously turned his head enough to enable him to see. 

The gamekeeper who had entered the hollow pres¬ 
ently came back into the field and began to walk 
methodically up and down, and Foster regretted his 
rashness in helping with the net. The poachers had 
vanished, but the others seemed to know there was 
somebody about, and since they were gamekeepers 
would be hard to deceive. His cover was not good, 
and although he might have changed his place when 
the fellow in the field was farthest away, he feared that 
a movement would betray him to the other on the 
wall. 

In the meantime, the chill of the wet soil crept 
through his mackintosh and his hands got numbed. 
He thrust them into the mossy grass for fear they 
should show in the moonlight, and buried his face in 
the rushes, which prickled his skin. He could, with 
some trouble, see through the clump and anxiously 
watched the fellow who came steadily nearer. Now 


THE POACHERS 


109 


and then he turned aside to examine a whinn bush, and 
Foster saw that he had acted wisely when he dropped 
behind the rushes. Had he chosen a prominent object 
for cover, he would have been caught. 

At length, the searcher crossed the field on a line that 
would bring him close to where Foster lay, and the 
latter let his face sink lower and tried to check his 
breathing. He durst not look about, but heard the 
man’s heavy boots splash in the boggy grass, until the 
fellow suddenly stopped. Foster thought he had seen 
him, but did not move. In the Northwest, he had now 
and then caught a jack-rabbit by carefully marking its 
hiding-place, but had not seen it afterwards until he 
nearly trod upon the crouching animal. It was com¬ 
forting to remember that his pursuers had not watched 
him drop behind the rushes. 

“Hae ye seen aught, Jock?” the keeper near him 
called, and Foster was conscious of keen relief. 

“Naething ava,” answered the other. “If he went 
doon the burn, he’s no’ come oot.” 

“He’s no’ there; ye would ha’ seen him if he’d 
headed back. 

There was silence for a moment or two and Foster 
heard the water bubble in the moss as the man moved 
his foot. The fellow would tread upon him if he took 
a few steps in the right direction, but his mackintosh 
was much the color of the withered grass and his face 
and hands were hidden. 

Then the man on the wall remarked in a thoughtful 
tone: “I’m no’ quite sure he went ower the dyke. Ye 
see, I was kin’ o’ staggered by the clout on the head, 
and he might ha’ slippit oot by the gate.” 

“X* will be Lang Pate, of course.” 


1 io 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


“Just him,” agreed the other. “He was near 
enough to reach me with his stick and the light no’ 
that bad. Besides, wha’ else would it be?” 

Foster, seeing that he had escaped notice, felt 
amused. Long Pete was suspected and therefore 
judged guilty; the keeper’s last argument banished 
doubt. 

“My heid’s sair,” the man resumed. “We’ll look if 
they’ve gone doon the glen, and then tak’ the road if 
ye’ll row up the net.” 

The other crossed the field and Foster lay still until 
he heard him climb the wall and afterwards made for 
a hole that led into the road. Somewhat to his sur¬ 
prise, he found that he had brought the partridges. 
He followed the road quietly, keeping in the shadow 
of a dyke, although he thought the gamekeepers had 
gone the other way, and on turning a corner came 
upon the poachers lurking behind a thorn bush. 

“We thought they had caught ye,” one remarked. 

“I suppose you were anxious about it, because you 
were afraid I might put them on your track.” 

“I canna say ye’re altogether wrang, but whaur are 
they the noo?” 

“Looking for you in the glen, I believe. But which 
of you is Long Pete?” 

The man he had met first said it was his name, and 
Foster resumed: “Then I imagine the fellow with the 
gun means to declare that you struck him.” 

“He would!” Pete remarked, grinning. “Weel, it’s 
lucky I hae twa three frends wha’11 show that I 
couldna’ ha’ been near the spot just then. But we’ll 
need to hurry.” 

“I think I understand,” said Foster, who went on 


THE POACHERS 


m 


with them. “Still you can’t save much time, even if 
you walk very fast.” 

“Verra true,” Pete replied. “But it’s no’ difficult to 
pit back the clock.” 

Leaving the road presently, they struck across a bog 
that got softer as they advanced until Foster felt the 
rotten turf tremble beneath his feet. All round were 
clumps of rushes, patches of smooth but treacherous 
moss, and holes where water glimmered in the moon¬ 
light. He imagined it was a dangerous place for a 
stranger to cross, but his companions knew the way, 
and although he sank to the top of his boots they 
reached firmer ground. Soon afterwards, Pete showed 
him a rough track that crossed the side of a hill. 

“Yon’s your road and ye’ll see the clachan in aboot 
a mile. If they’re no’ verra willing to tak’ ye in, ye 
can tell them ye’re a freend o’ mine.” 

Foster thanked him and followed the track, which 
led him to a hollow where lights shone among a clump 
of bare ash trees. A few low, white houses straggled 
along the roadside, and he thought one that was some¬ 
what larger and had dormer windows was the change- 
house. When he knocked he was shown into an un¬ 
tidy kitchen where two men sat drinking by a peat fire. 
At first, the landlord seemed doubtful about being able 
to find room for him, but his manner changed when 
Foster carelessly mentioned that he understood from 
Pete that he would be welcome, and one of the others 
gave him a keen glance. 

“Where met ye Pate?” he asked. 

“On the hill,” said Foster, who felt sure of his 
ground. “I helped him with the net.” 

“Had he any luck ?” 


112 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“Not much/’ said Foster. “Two gamekeepers 
turned up and although we got a few partridges Pete 
lost his net.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then another 
remarked: “I wouldna’ say but we ken enough. We 
hae helpit Pate oot before, and a change is lightsome. 
He can gang till the moss-side folk noo.” 

They let the matter drop, but Foster was given a 
better supper than he expected and afterwards a bed 
in a cupboard fixed to the kitchen wall. 


XII 


A COMPLICATION 

A T noon next day Foster sat, smoking, on a bridge 
near the clachan. The air was mild and sun¬ 
shine filled the hollow, while Foster had just dined 
upon some very appetizing broth. The broth was 
thick with vegetables, but he did not think the meat 
in it came from a barn-door fowl. The clachan was 
a poor and untidy place, but he was tired, and as the 
gamekeepers would not suspect a neatly-dressed stran¬ 
ger, had thought of stopping another night. When 
he had nearly finished his pipe, Long Pete came up. 
Foster, who had only seen him in the moonlight, now 
noted that he had a rather frank brown face and a 
twinkling smile. 

“Ye’ll be for Hawick?” he remarked. 

Foster said he was going there and Pete resumed in 
a meaning tone: “It’s a grand day for the road and 
ye could be in Hawick soon after it’s dark.” 

“Just so,” said Foster, who could take a hint. “But 
is there any reason I should start this afternoon?” 

“Ye should ken. I was across the muir in the morn¬ 
ing and found a polisman frae Yarrow at Watty Bell’s. 
He’d come ower the hills on his bicycle and was asking 
if they’d seen a stranger wi’ a glove on his left han’.” 

Foster made a little abrupt movement that he 
thought the other noted, but said carelessly, “The fel¬ 
low must have had a rough trip.” 

»3 


ii4 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“A road gangs roon’ up the waterside, though I 
wouldna’ say it’s very good. I’m thinking he made 
an early start and would wait for dinner with Watty. 
Then ye might give him twa ’oors to get here.” 

Foster looked at his watch and pondered. He was 
beginning to understand Scottish tact and saw that 
Pete meant to give him a friendly warning. It was 
obvious that the policeman would not have set off 
across the hills in the dark of a winter morning unless 
he had been ordered to make inquiries. Moreover, 
since the gamekeepers had mistaken Foster for Pete, 
the orders had nothing to do with the poaching. 

“Perhaps I had better pull out,” he said. “But the 
fellow won’t have much trouble in learning which way 
I’ve gone.” 

“I’m no’ sure o’ that. There’s a road o’ a sort rins 
west to Annandale and Lockerbie.” 

“But I’m not going west.” 

“Weel,” said Pete, “ye might start that way, and I 
would meet ye where a sheep track rins back up the 
glen—ye’ll ken it by the broken dyke where ye cross 
the burn. Then I would set ye on the road to Hawick 
ower the hill.” 

“Thanks,” said Foster thoughtfully. “I suppose I 
ought to let the folks at the inn know I’ve gone towards 
Annandale, so they can tell the policeman?” 

Pete’s eyes twinkled. “It might be better if they 
didna’ exactly tell him, but let him find it oot; but 
I’ll see tae that. Polisman Jock is noo and then rather 
shairp.” 

Ten minutes later, Foster left the inn and set off 
across the moor. The heath shone red, and here and 
there little pools, round which white stones lay in the 


A COMPLICATION 


115 


dark peat, flashed in the sunshine. The pale-blue of 
the sky changed near the horizon to delicate green, 
and a soft breeze blew across the waste. Foster en¬ 
joyed the walk, although he was puzzled and some¬ 
what disturbed. If inquiries had been made about 
Featherstone, he could have understood it, but the 
police were asking for a man with a glove on his left 
hand, which could only apply to him. Daly, of course, 
would be glad to get him out of the way, if he had 
learned that he was in Scotland, but the police could 
not arrest a man who had done nothing wrong. 

Foster now regretted that he had helped the poach¬ 
ers, although he thought he had made friends who 
would not betray him and might be useful. He had 
met Border Scots in Ontario, and knew something 
about their character. They were marked by a stern 
independence, inherited from their moss-trooper ances¬ 
tors, and he thought Pete was a typical specimen of the 
virile race. The man met him at the broken dyke, 
and leaving the road they turned east up the side of a 
sparkling burn. 

The narrow strip of level ground was wet and cov¬ 
ered with moss, in which their feet sank, but the hill¬ 
side was too steep to walk along. It ran up, a slope of 
gray-white grass, to the ragged summit where the peat 
was gashed and torn. Here and there a stunted thorn 
tree grew in a hollow, but the glen was savagely deso¬ 
late, and Foster, glancing at his companion, thought 
he understood why the men who wrung a living from 
these barren hills prospered when they came out to the 
rich wheat-soil of Canada. The Flowers of the Forest, 
who fell at Flodden, locking fast the Scottish square 
against the onslaught of England’s finest cavalry, were 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


116 

bred in these wilds, and had left descendants marked 
by their dour stubbornness. Pete’s hair was turning 
gray and his brown face was deeply lined, but he 
crossed the quaking moss with a young man’s stride, 
and Foster thought his mouth could set hard as granite 
in spite of his twinkling smile. He was a man who 
would forget neither a favor nor an injury, and Foster 
was glad to feel that he was on his side. 

At the head of the glen they climbed a long grassy 
slope and came to a tableland where the peat was torn 
into great black rifts and piled in hummocks. This 
was apparently Nature’s work, but Foster could not see 
how the storms that burst upon the hills could have 
worked such havoc. Crossing the rugged waste to a 
distant cairn, they sat down upon the stones, and Pete 
filled his pipe from Foster’s pouch. 

“Ye’ll haud east until ye find a burn that will lead 
ye doon to the road; then as ye cross the breist o’ a 
fell ye’ll see the reek o’ Hawick,” he said and added 
after a pause: “Maybe ye’ll no’ be stopping in the 
town ?” 

“I’ll stay the night. After that, I think I’ll take 
the hills again. I’m going south towards Liddesdale, 
but I expect that’s out of your beat.” 

Pete smiled. “There’s maist to be done in my 
regular line this side o’ Hawick. Buccleugh looks 
after his hares and paltrigs weel, and his marches rin 
wide across the country from Teviot to Liddel. But I 
hae freends a’ the way to the North Tyne, and there’s 
no’ many sheep sales I do not attend. If ye’re wanting 
them, I could give ye a few directions that might help 
ye on the road.” 

Foster thanked him and listened carefully. It looked 


A COMPLICATION 


117 


as if the poachers, who seemed to work now and then 
as honest drovers, knew each other well and combined 
forjnutual protection. It might be useful to be made 
an honorary member of the gang. 

“Weel,” his companion concluded, “if ye stop at 
the inns I’ve told ye o’, ye’ll find folks who can haud a 
quiet tongue, and if ye see ony reason for it, ye can say 
ye’re a freend o’ mine.” 

Foster rather diffidently offered him some money, 
but was not surprised when the man refused the gift. 
Indeed, he felt that it would have jarred him had 
Pete taken it. The latter gave him his hand with a 
smile and turned back to the glen while Foster pushed 
on across the heath. He reflected with some amuse¬ 
ment that Pete probably thought him a fugitive from 
the law. 

After a time he stopped to look about. His view 
commanded a horizon of two or three miles, for he 
seemed to be near the center of the tableland. Its 
surface was broken by the hummocks and hollows 
of the peat, and tufts of white wild cotton relieved 
the blackness of the gashes in the soil. Sheep fed in 
the distance, and he heard the harsh cry of a grouse 
that skimmed the heath. The skyline was clear, and 
by and by two sharp but distant figures cut against it. 

Foster’s first impulse was to drop into the ling, but 
he did not. If the men were following him, it would 
take them half an hour to reach the spot he occupied 
and, if necessary, the roughness of the ground would 
enable him to reach the edge of the moor without their 
seeing which way he went. Besides, since he would 
be visible as long as he stood up, he could find out 
whether they were looking for him or not. They came 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


118 

nearer and then vanished, and he sat down and specu¬ 
lated about his line of retreat. Their disappearance 
was suspicious, and although he thought he could baf¬ 
fle the rural police, it would be different if he had game- 
keepers to deal with. 

By and by the men reappeared, but as they did not 
seem anxious to cover their movements he felt relieved. 
It was possible that they had come to mend a fence 
or look for some sheep. For all that, he drew back 
among the hummocks, and looked for hollows where 
he would have a background for his figure as he re¬ 
sumed his march. He saw no more of the men and by 
and by came to a burn, which he followed to lower 
ground, where he found the road Pete had told him 
about. 

It led him up and down hill, and now and then the 
track was faint, while when he crossed the last ridge 
the light was fading. Motionless gray clouds stretched 
across the sky, which glimmered with pale saffron in 
the west. Rounded hills, stained a deep blue, cut 
against the light, and a trail of gauzy vapor hung 
about a distant hollow. Since there was no mist on 
the moors, he knew it was the smoke of Hawick mills. 

As he went down, stone dykes began to straggle up 
the hill. The fields they enclosed were rushy and 
dotted with whinns, but they got smoother and pres¬ 
ently he came to stubble and belts of,plowing. Then 
he turned into a good road and saw rows of lights 
that got gradually brighter in the valley ahead. It 
had been dark some time when he entered Hawick, 
and the damp air was filled with a thin, smoky haze. 
Factory windows glimmered in the haze and tall chim¬ 
neys loomed above the houses. The bustle of the town 


A COMPLICATION 


119 

fell pleasantly but strangely on his ears after the 
silence of the moors. 

Reaching a hotel that looked comfortable, he went 
in, ordered dinner, and provisionally booked a room, 
though he did not register and explained that he could 
not tell yet if he would stay all night. Then, leaving 
his knapsack, he went into the street and stopped by a 
bridge where three roads met. A guide-post indicated 
that one led to Selkirk, and the map had shown Foster 
that this was the way to Peebles and Yarrow. Another 
ran up the waterside to Langholm and the south. 

Foster lighted a cigarette and drawing his maimed 
hand into the sleeve of his mackintosh, leaned against 
the side of the bridge and watched the Selkirk road. 
It was not cold and the street was well lighted by 
the windows of the shops. Briskly moving people 
streamed across the bridge, as if the factory hands 
were going home from work, but nobody seemed inter¬ 
ested in Foster and the policeman who stood by the 
guide-post paid him no attention. He thought about 
going back to the hotel when a car, traveling rather 
fast, came down the road and pulled up close by. 

Foster leaned quietly against the bridge and did not 
turn his head, but saw Daly sitting beside the driver; 
the half-dried mud that was thickly crusted about the 
car indicated a long journey. An abrupt movement 
might be dangerous, although he did not think Daly 
expected to find him or Featherstone calmly lounging 
about the street. The driver beckoned the policeman 
and Foster heard him ask if one crossed the bridge 
for Langholm. 

The man told him to turn to the right, and after 
speaking to the driver Daly asked if there was a garage 


120 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


and a good hotel near. The policeman gave him some 
directions, and when the car turned round and rolled 
away Foster followed. He passed close by the police¬ 
man and, taking advantage of the sociable Scottish 
custom, nodded and remarked that it was a fine night. 
The man answered civilly, with a careless glance at 
Foster, who went on, feeling satisfied with his experi¬ 
ment. It was obvious that no inquiries about him had 
been telegraphed to Hawick and he had only Daly to 
deal with. This was curious, if the police were really 
anxious to find him. 

The garage was open and Foster asked a man if 
he could hire a motor bicycle. The fellow said he 
thought so, but the manager was out, and Foster 
strolled about the room. Daly’s driver was refilling 
the lamps with carbide, and when he finished asked 
for petrol. 

‘‘Ye’re for the road again,” the man who brought the 
tin remarked. 

“For Langholm,” replied the driver. “I don’t ex¬ 
pect we’ll go farther to-night, but I must have things 
ready if the boss wants to go on.” 

Foster hoped the other would ask where they had 
come from, but he did not do so, and next moment 
Daly walked down some steps at the other end of the 
room. Knowing that a quick retreat might betray 
him, Foster stood still and examined a lamp he picked 
up. Daly crossed the floor, passing within a yard or 
two. 

“You can fix her all right, I suppose?” he said to 
the driver. 

The latter said something about a sparking-plug, 
and when Daly stooped over the engine the light of a 


I 


A COMPLICATION 


121 


lamp shone into his face. He was a big, handsome 
man, but Foster, studying him closely, noted his hard 
and greedy eyes. For a moment, he came near for¬ 
getting the need for caution and giving way to a fit 
of rage. The fellow had it in his power to bring dis¬ 
grace upon upright people and drag an honored name 
in the mire. He could humble Alice Featherstone’s 
pride and ruin the brother she loved. 

Lawrence had done wrong, but had paid for it and 
made good in Canada, and now the rogue who had 
learned his secret would drag him down, or, as the price 
of silence, bring his relatives to poverty. Foster felt 
that Daly was not the man to be merciful when there 
was an advantage to be got; one saw a sinister hint 
of cruelty in his coarsely-handsome face. It would 
have been a relief to provoke the fellow and throw him 
out of the garage, but Foster knew he must deny him¬ 
self this satisfaction, since it would make things worse 
for those he meant to shield. He did not remember 
having felt so full of primitive savageness before, but 
he exercised his self-control. 

Standing in the shadow, he turned his head, looking 
down at the lamp he began to take to pieces, and 
presently Daly said to the driver, “You had better get 
some food; I’ll want you soon.” 

Then he came back and passing close enough to 
touch Foster, went up the steps and through a door. 
Foster put down the lamp and strolled out of the 
garage. He found dinner ready at his hotel and when 
he had finished went to the smoking-room, which was 
opposite the office. He left the door open and by and 
by heard a man enter the hall and stop at the counter. 

“Have you an American called Franklin here?” he 


122 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


asked and Foster smiled as he recognized Daly’s voice. 

He had half-expected the visit, and the inquiry was 
cleverly framed. Daly had not asked about a Cana¬ 
dian, because the accent of Western Canada is that of 
the United States, and Franklin resembled Feather- 
stone enough to prompt the girl clerk to mention the 
latter if he were a guest. For all that, Daly was 
ignorant of the Scottish character, because the Scot 
seldom offers information that is not demanded. 

“No,” she said, “we have no American staying 
with us. 

Foster thought Daly opened the visitors’ book, which 
lay on the counter, but as he had not yet entered his 
name, there was nothing to be learned from it. Still 
Daly might come into the smoking-room, and he picked 
up the Scotsman and leaning back in his chair held up 
the newspaper to hide his face. After a few moments, 
Daly said, “I don’t know anybody here; it looks as if 
my friends aren’t in the town.” 

Then he went along the hall, and when the door 
shut Foster put down the newspaper and began to 
think. He imagined that Daly hardly expected to find 
Featherstone in Hawick, but it was curious that he 
was going to Langholm, which was on the best road 
to Lockerbie in Annandale. It was the police Foster 
had tried to put off the track at the clachan by striking 
west across the moors, and he did not think Daly had 
anything to do with them. He could see no light* on 
the matter, but when he went back to the garage it was 
something of a relief to find the car had gone. 


XIII 


FOSTER RETURNS TO THE GARTH 

A FTER breakfast next morning Foster asked the 
hotel porter to take his knapsack to the station 
and get him a ticket to Carlisle. He must leave a 
clew for Daly, who might come back to Hawick when 
he failed to find him in Annandale but would be badly 
puzzled if he went to Carlisle, because it was an im¬ 
portant railway center, where one would have a choice 
of several different routes. This would give Foster a 
few quiet days, after which he must think of a way 
of inducing Daly to resume the chase. The latter 
probably thought he was following Lawrence, and if 
he did not, no doubt concluded that Foster was working 
in concert with him, and to find one would help him to 
deal with the other. 

It was a dark morning and the smoke of the woolen 
factories hung about the town. A few lights burned 
in the station, but the building was gloomy and Foster 
had some trouble in finding the porter among the 
waiting passengers. Soon after he did so, the train 
came in and the man hurried along the platform, look¬ 
ing into the carriages. 

“Ye wanted a corridor, sir,” he said as he opened a 
door. 

Foster got in and stood at the window until the 
porter went away. People were running up and down 
123 


124 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


looking for places, but he had no time to lose. Open¬ 
ing the door on the opposite side, he went along the 
corridor and stood for a moment on the step at the 
other end of the carriage. He could not see the porter, 
and when two or three passengers ran up got down 
from the step. Next moment the whistle blew, the 
engine snorted, and the train rolled out of the station. 

As none of the porters spoke to him, Foster thought 
he had managed the thing neatly and made it look as 
if he had come to see somebody off instead of having 
been left behind. For all that, he waited a minute or 
two, studying a time-table, to avoid the risk of over¬ 
taking the hotel porter; and then made his way by 
back streets out of the town. For some miles, the 
road he took ran south up a well-cultivated valley, past 
turnip and stubble fields and smooth pasture; and then 
changed to a rough stony track that climbed a hill. 

A turn shut in the valley when he reached higher 
ground, and a long stretch of moor rolled away ahead. 
Foster thought these sharp transitions from intensive 
cultivation to the sterile wilds were characteristic of 
southern Scotland. It had rained since he left Hawick, 
but now the sun shone down between the clouds and 
bright gleams and flying shadows chased each other 
across the waste. To the south the sky was clear and 
shone with a lemon-yellow glow, against which the 
rounded hills rose, delicately gray. In one place there 
was a gap that Foster thought was Liddesdale, and 
his path led across the latter towards the head of Tyne. 
Not a house broke the sweep of withered grass and 
heath, and only the crying of plover that circled in 
the distance disturbed the silence. 

Foster liked the open trail and went on with a light 


FOSTER RETURNS TO THE GARTH 125 

step, until as he crossed the watershed and the country 
sloped to the south, he came to a wire fence and saw 
the black mouth of a railway tunnel beneath. It was 
now about two o’clock, and feeling hungry, he sat 
down where a bank cut off the wind, and took out some 
food he had bought at Hawick. He did not know if 
he found the shining rails and row of telegraph posts 
that curved away down the hillside out of place, but 
somehow they made him feel foolishly unconventional. 
His boots and mackintosh were wet, he was lunching 
on sweet biscuits and gingerbread, and did not know 
where he would spend the night, although it would not 
be at a comfortable hotel. Until he saw the tunnel, 
he had felt at home in the wilds and might have done 
so yet, had he, for example, been driving a flock of 
sheep; but the railway was disturbing. 

In this country, people traveled by steam-heated 
trains, instead of on foot, and engaged a lawyer to 
defend them from their enemies. He was going back 
to the methods of two or three centuries ago, and not 
even doing this properly, since the moss-troopers who 
once rode through those hills carried lances instead 
of a check-book, which was after all his best weapon. 
He laughed and felt himself something of a modern 
Don Quixote as he lighted his pipe. 

Then there was a roar in the tunnel and a North 
British express, leaping out through a cloud of smoke, 
switched his thoughts on to another track. His ad¬ 
ventures had begun in a train, and it was in a train 
he met the girl who warned him not to deliver Car¬ 
men’s packet. He did not see what the packet had to 
do with him, but he had had some trouble about it 
and thought it might turn up again. Then he won- 


126 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


dered whether Daly was now in Annandale. The 
fellow was obviously determined to find Lawrence, and, 
if one admitted that he had come to England for the 
purpose, did not mind how much it cost him, which 
was rather strange. After all, blackmailing was a risky 
business and the Featherstones were not rich. It 
looked as if Daly might have some other object in 
tracking Lawrence, but Foster could not see what it 
was. Indeed, he was frankly puzzled. There was a 
mystery about Carmen’s packet, he had been warned 
out of Edinburgh, and inquiries about him were after¬ 
wards made, while Daly’s keenness was not quite ex¬ 
plained. He wondered whether these things were 
somehow related, but at present they only offered him 
tangled clews that led nowhere. Well, he might be able 
to unravel them by and by, and getting up went on his 
way. 

He spent the night at a lonely cothouse on the edge 
of a peat-moss and reached the Garth next afternoon. 
John let him in and after taking his mackintosh re¬ 
marked: “Mr. and Mrs. Featherstone are out, but 
Miss Featherstone is at home; I will let her know you 
have arrived.” Then he paused and added in a half- 
apologetic tone: “I hope you had a pleasant journey, 
sir.” 

Foster smiled. John had softened his imperturbable 
formality by just the right touch of respectful interest. 
In a sense, they were accomplices, but Foster thought 
if they had committed a crime together, the old fellow 
would have treated him with unmoved deference as 
his master’s guest. 

“On the whole, I had. I suppose you met the other 
car when you turned back at the station?” 


FOSTER RETURNS TO THE GARTH 127 

‘‘Yes, sir. I met it coming round the bend.” 

“As the road’s narrow, your judgment’s pretty good. 
Did anything happen?” 

John’s eyes twinkled faintly. “Not to our car, sir. 
The other had the bad luck to run on to the grass 
where the ground was soft. In fact, we had some 
trouble to pull her out. The gentleman seemed an¬ 
noyed, sir.” 

Foster went to his room chuckling. He could im¬ 
agine the deferential way in which John, who had 
caused the accident, had offered help. When we went 
down Alice met him in the hall and he thrilled at some¬ 
thing in her manner as she gave him her hand. It was 
getting dark and the glow of the fire flickered among 
the shadows, but there was only one lamp, and as it 
was shaded the light did not travel far beyond the 
small table, on which tea was presently served. This 
hinted at seclusion and homelike intimacy. An em¬ 
broidered cloth half-covered the dark, polished oak, 
the china was old but unusually delicate, and the blue 
flame of a spirit lamp burned beneath the copper kettle. 

Foster thought everything showed signs of fastidious 
taste, but there was something austere about it that 
harmonized with the dignified shabbiness of the house. 
It was, for example, very different from the prettiness 
of the Edinburgh tea-room, and he thought it hinted 
of the character of the Borderers. For all that, the 
society of his companion had the greatest charm. Alice 
was plainly dressed, but simplicity became her. The 
girl had the Border spirit, with its reserves of strength 
and tenderness. Now she was quietly friendly, but 
Foster knew her friendship was not lightly given and 
was worth much. 


128 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Alice made him talk about his journey and he did so 
frankly, except that he did not mention his meeting 
the girl in the tea-room or the detective’s visit to his 
hotel. Still he felt a certain embarrassment, as he had 
done when he told his partner’s story. It was rather 
hard to relate his own exploits, and he knew Alice 
would note any error he was led into by vanity or false 
diffidence. 

“Then it was really to keep a promise to Miss Austin 
you went to Newcastle,” she remarked presently. 
“Since she sent you with the packet, you must know 
her pretty well.” 

“Yes,” said Foster, “in a way, we are good friends. 
You see there are not a great many people at the 
Crossing.” 

Alice gave him a quiet glance. He was not such a 
fool as to imagine it mattered to her whether he knew 
Carmen well or not. But he thought she was not alto¬ 
gether pleased. 

“What is Miss Austin like?” she asked. 

Foster was careful about his reply. He wanted Alice 
to understand that he was not Carmen’s lover, which 
needed tact; but he was her friend and must do her 
justice, while any breach of good taste would be noted 
and condemned. He did his best, without learning if 
he had produced the right effect, for Alice let the mat¬ 
ter drop, as if it no longer interested her. 

“Perhaps it’s a pity you helped the men who were 
poaching,” she said. “I’m afraid you’re fond of ro¬ 
mantic adventures.” 

“I’m sometimes rash and sorry afterwards,” Foster 
admitted. “However, there’s an excuse for the other 
thing. This is a romantic country and I’ve spent a 


FOSTER RETURNS TO THE GARTH 129 

long time in Canada, which is altogether businesslike.’' 

Alice gave him an approving smile, but she said, 
“One shouldn’t be sorry afterwards. Isn’t that rather 
weak ?” 

“I’m human,” Foster rejoined. “A thing looks 
different when you come to pay for doing it. It’s 
pretty hard not to feel sorry then.” 

“After all, that may be better than counting the 
cost beforehand and leaving the thing undone.” 

“You’re a Borderer; one of the headstrong, old- 
fashioned kind that broke the invasions and afterwards 
defied their own rulers for a whim.” 

“As a matter of fact, a number of them were very 
businesslike. They fought for their enemies’ cattle 
and the ransom of captured knights.” 

“Not always,” Foster objected. “At Flodden, 
where the Ettrick spears all fell in the smashed 
squares, the Scots king came down from his strong 
camp to meet the English on equal terms. Then it 
wasn’t businesslike when Buccleugh, with his handful 
of men, carried off Kimmont Willie from Carlisle. 
There was peace between the countries and he had 
two offended sovereigns to hold him accountable.” 

“It looks as if you had been reading something 
about our history,” Alice said smiling. 

“I haven’t read much,” Foster answered modestly. 
“Still, we have a few books at the mill, and in the 
long winter evenings, when the thermometer marks 
forty degrees below and you sit close to the red-hot 
stove, there’s nothing to do but read. It would be 
hard for you to picture our little room; the match¬ 
boarding, split by the changes from heat to bitter cold, 
the smell of hot iron, the dead silence, and the grim 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


130 

white desolation outside. Perhaps it’s curious, but 
after working hard all day, earning dollars, one can’t 
read rubbish. One wants romance, but romance that’s 
real and has the truth in it.” 

“But your own life has been full of adventure.” 

“In a way, but there was always a business propo¬ 
sition to justify the risk. It’s good to be reckless now 
,and then, and I’ve felt as I read about your ancestors 
that I envied them. There must have been some 
charm in riding about the moors with one’s lady’s 
glove on one’s steel cap, ready to follow where adven¬ 
ture called.” 

“So far as we know,” said Alice, “it was the custom 
to honor one lady, always. The Border chiefs were 
rude, but they had their virtues, and there are some 
pretty stories of their constancy.” 

Foster imagined he saw a faint sparkle in her eyes. 
He would have liked to think she resented his having 
gone to Newcastle on Carmen’s behalf, but doubted 
this. After a pause she resumed: 

“People say we are decadent and getting slack with 
luxury, but one likes to think the spirit of the race 
survives all changed conditions and can’t be destroyed. 
There is a colliery not very far off where the water 
broke in some years ago. The men in the deep work¬ 
ings were cut off, but the few who escaped went back 
into the pit—and never came up. They knew the 
thing was impossible, their leaders frankly told them 
so, but they would not be denied. Well, the colliery 
was not reopened, the shaft-head towers are falling 
down, but there’s a granite fountain on the moor that 
will stand for ages to record the splendid sacrifice.” 

“They had all to lose,” said Foster. “One must 


FOSTER RETURNS TO THE GARTH 131 

admire, without hoping to emulate, a deed like that.” 

Alice changed the subject rather abruptly. “What 
you have told me is puzzling. I can’t see why the 
police followed you, and there’s something mysterious 
about the packet. It all seems connected with Law¬ 
rence’s affairs, and yet I can’t see how. I suppose you 
have no explanation?” 

“Not yet. I feel there’s something going on in 
which I may by and by take a part. The clews break 
off, but I may find one that’s stronger, and then-” 

He stopped, but Alice gave him an understanding 
glance. “Then you would follow the clew, even if it 
led you into some danger, for Lawrence’s sake?” 

“I’d try,” said Foster, with a flush that gave him a 
curiously ingenuous look. “As I’ve no particular 
talent for that kind of thing, I mightn’t do much good, 
but you have accused me of being romantic and I’ve 
owned that I am rash.” 

Alice smiled. “You’re certainly modest; but there’s 
a rashness that is much the same as generosity.” 

Then Featherstone came in and after a time took 
Foster to the library, where he gave him a cigarette. 

“It’s strange we haven’t heard from Lawrence yet,” 
he said in a disturbed voice. “He hasn’t given the 
Canadian post office his new address, because here’s a 
letter they have sent on.” 

“From Hulton, who seems to be in Toronto,” said 
Foster, picking up the envelope. “As I’m a partner, 
I’ll open it.” 

He did so and gave Featherstone the letter, which 
inquired if they could supply some lumber the com¬ 
pany needed. 

“I’m sorry we can’t do the work, because we won’t 



132 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


be back in time. It would have been an interesting 
job to cut the stuff in the way Hulton wants.” 

“He seems to leave a good deal to your judgment 
and to have no doubt about your sending him the 
right material.” 

“I suppose that is so,” Foster agreed. “Hulton 
soon got into the way of sending for Lawrence when 
he wanted any lumber that had to be carefully sawn. 
In fact, he treats him as a kind of consulting specialist, 
and I imagine likes him personally.” 

He was silent for the next minute or two. Feather- 
stone’s remark had shown him more clearly than he 
had hitherto realized how high Lawrence stood in the 
manufacturer’s esteem. No other outsider was 
treated with such confidence. Then he told Feather- 
stone about his journey, and the latter said: 

“I have heard nothing from Daly, but soon after 
you left, a gentleman from Edinburgh came here to 
inquire about you.” 

“Ah!” said Foster, rather sharply. “I suppose he 
was sent by the police and imagine I met him at my 
hotel. His name was Gordon; I thought it curious 
that he gave me his card.” 

“That was the name. He asked if I knew you and 
I said I did.” 

“Then it looks as if he meant to test my statements. 
Did he seem surprised to learn I was staying here?” 

“It was hard to tell what the fellow thought; but 
somehow I felt that he expected to find your story 
true. He, however, gave me no information. What 
do you suppose he wants ?” 

“I can’t imagine; the thing’s puzzling. What makes 


FOSTER RETURNS TO THE GARTH 133 

it stranger is that I thought the interest Gordon took 
in me was, so to speak, benevolent.’ , 

“But why should it be benevolent, if he had any 
ground for suspecting you?” Featherstone asked. 

Foster glanced at him keenly. There was a change 
in his host’s manner, which had grown less cordial, 
but he admitted that Featherstone’s confidence was 
being subjected to some strain. It would certainly 
be disturbing to find the police inquiring about him. 
Lawrence had not written, and Foster saw that there 
was much in his statements that sounded rather lame. 

“I don’t understand the matter at all; but it might 
be better if I left quietly in the morning,” he said. 
“If I don’t put Daly on my trail again, he may come 
back.” 

“Very well,” said Featherstone, getting up. “But 
what did you do with Lawrence’s bag?” 

“I left it at a Peebles hotel. I thought if Daly 
found it was there, it would give him a place to 
watch.” 

Featherstone gloomily made a sign of agreement. 
“I wish Lawrence would write to us. We are getting 
anxious about him and a letter would put our minds 
at rest.” 


XIV 


FOSTER SEES A LIGHT 

A FTER leaving the Garth, Foster went to Carlisle, 
where he bought small articles at different shops 
and had them sent to his hotel, addressed to Feather- 
stone. He also asked if any letters for his partner 
had come, and then, having done all he could think of 
to give his pursuers a hint, waited to see what would 
happen. He imagined that since Daly seemed to be 
well provided with money he would not undertake the 
search alone, and there were private inquiry agents 
who would help him. The services of these gentlemen 
would not be cheap, and Foster wondered if the fellow 
knew that there was not very much to be extorted 
from Featherstone. This, however, was Daly’s busi¬ 
ness, and seeing no result from his experiment, he 
resolved to leave Carlisle. 

He reached the station undecided where to go. A 
Midland express would shortly start for the south, 
but it would be difficult to leave a clew in the big 
manufacturing towns, and there was a stopping train 
soon after the other on the North British line, which 
traverses the Border hills. Foster preferred this 
neighborhood, because he was beginning to know it 
and it was not far from the Garth, but after a few 
moments’ consideration went to the Midland ticket 
window. 


134 


FOSTER SEES A LIGHT 


135 

A row of passengers were waiting their turn, and 
as he took his place in the line a man crossed the floor 
and stood behind him. There was nothing suspicious 
in this, but the fellow had not come in by the entrance 
hall, and if he had been in the station, it was strange 
he had not got his ticket earlier. When his turn came, 
Foster asked for a ticket to Appleby in a husky voice, 
and when the booking clerk demanded, “Where?” 
looked over his shoulder. The man behind was lean¬ 
ing forward, as if to catch his reply. 

“Appleby,” said Foster, who had seen by a railway 
map that the town was not far off, and getting his 
ticket, joined the passengers on the platform. As he 
did so, the long train came in, but knowing that it 
would be a minute or two before the engine was 
changed he walked up the platform leisurely, looking 
into the carriages. There was some bustle, for people 
were getting out and in, and he kept out of sight 
among them until the guard waved his flag. Then he 
stepped behind a truck loaded with milk-cans as the 
train rolled away. 

If the man he had noticed had been watching him, 
he thought he had put him off the track, but he had 
no time to lose if he meant to catch the stopping train. 
He got in as it started, choosing an old carriage with¬ 
out a corridor, so that nobody could spy on him. They 
jolted over the crossings, the old red wall of the city 
rolled by and dropped behind, and as they ran out 
towards the open country across the Eden, Foster 
thoughtfully lighted a cigarette. He had tried to put 
his pursuers on his partner’s supposititious trail, but 
it began to look as if they were not following Lawrence 
but him. His injured hand could hardly have escaped 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


136 

notice, and he was not really like Lawrence, of whom 
Daly would no doubt have given his agents a good 
description. 

He wondered who was on his track, and with what 
object. Daly would gain nothing by molesting him, 
and he could not see why the police should take an 
interest in his movements, but he was being watched, 
and felt uneasy. He was not sure that he had sent 
the last man off to Appleby, although he hoped he had. 

The train, which stopped now and then, ran across 
flat fields until it entered the valley of the Esk. The 
valley narrowed as they sped through the woods beside 
the stream, and when the line turned up the water 
of Liddel bleak hills began to rise ahead. The trees 
and rich cultivation were gradually left behind, the 
air got keener, and lonely moors rolled down to the 
winding dale. It got dark as they followed the river, 
and soon afterwards Foster alighted at a small station. 
Nobody else left the train except two or three country 
people, and he went to an inn in the straggling little 
town. 

Next morning he set off on foot, heading northeast 
into the hills. He walked leisurely, because he was 
going to Jedburgh, but had not made up his mind if he 
would get there that night, since Pete had told him of 
a farm where he could stop. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon he stopped near 
the middle of a barren moorland and looked round. 
The road ran back into the strong yellow glow of the 
sunset, but it crossed a ridge about a mile off, and 
there was nobody in sight. It was very rough in 
places, but he thought a skillful driver could take a car 
over it. To the east, where the horizon was hazy, 


FOSTER SEES A LIGHT 


137 

the high ground fell away, and he thought he could 
strike another road to Jedburgh in three or four miles 
if he crossed the heath. There seemed to be no reason 
why he should do so, but he left the road and some 
time later came to a bum that ran down hill. 

By and by a rough track began in a marish field and 
got smoother as it followed the burn. Then a hedge 
of tall thorns, with wool-fringed gaps between their 
stems where the sheep went through, ran down the 
waterside, and Foster sat down on a stone and studied 
his map. He thought it would take him nearly two 
hours to reach Jedburgh, but the small farm Pete had 
spoken of was not far off. The track he was on seemed 
to lead to a better road in the valley. Mist was gather¬ 
ing in the hollow, but when he looked back the sky 
was bright and the yellow glow rested on the hill. The 
evening was very calm; he heard a curlew crying far 
off across the moor, and then raised his head sharply 
at a quick ringing sound. There was a wire fence up 
the hill, which he had got over because the rotten gate 
stuck fast. Somebody had stumbled in climbing it and 
his foot had struck the wire. 

Foster’s eyes narrowed as he gazed up the track and 
saw two figures come round a corner. They were too 
far off to be distinct, but were walking fast. If he 
sat still, he would be invisible for two or three minutes 
but not longer, and he quickly studied his surroundings. 
There were large boulders and brambles between him 
and the water, and the tall hedge offered a hiding- 
place on the other side. It might be wiser to get out 
of sight, but he would make an experiment, and 
dropped a few wax matches and a London newspaper 
he had bought in Carlisle. The country people did not 


138 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

use wax matches and London newspapers were not 
common among the Border moors. 

Then, moving slowly, he made for the hedge. There 
were only a few bushes between him and the approach¬ 
ing men, but he had a good background, into which 
his figure would melt, and was ready to lie down if 
needful. He paused for a moment at the edge of 
the burn, which spread out in a shallow that reflected 
the fading light. He might be seen against the water, 
but something must be risked, and if the men were 
looking for him, they would watch the road. Step¬ 
ping into the stream, he waded across, making as lit¬ 
tle splash as possible, and found a hole in the hedge, 
through which he crawled. He was now in the shadow 
and it would be difficult to distinguish him among the 
thick stems. 

The men were plainly visible and did not look like 
country people, for the hill farmers and shepherds 
walk with a curious gait. Foster crouched down and 
waited, knowing he would get a useful hint when they 
reached the spot he had left. They stopped and one 
picked up the newspaper, while his companion bent 
down and got up with something in his hand. Foster, 
seeing that the fellow had found the matches, won¬ 
dered whether he had made the trail too plain. If they 
suspected the trick, they would know he was not far 
off and search for him. 

He could not distinguish their faces and regretted 
this, because it would have been useful to know the 
men again, and when they began to talk their voices 
were too low for him to hear what they said. Pres¬ 
ently one left the road on the opposite side to the 
stream and climbed the bank, on which he stood as 


FOSTER SEES A LIGHT 


139 


if he wished to look across the moor. The other 
walked along the edge of the grass with his head bent, 
but Foster thought it was too dark to see any foot¬ 
prints he might have left. The fellow came on a few 
yards towards the stream, and then stood still while 
Foster tried to study him, but could only distinguish 
his face as a white oval in the gathering dark. 

He was anxious and puzzled, because he did not 
know whether the men wanted him or Lawrence. 
The nearer of them would, no doubt, see him if he 
crossed the burn, but Foster thought he might seize 
and put the fellow out of action before the other came 
up. This, however, would be risky, and since he did 
not know their intentions he was not sure he would 
gain much if he came off victor. To his relief, the 
man went back and joined his companion in the road, 
where they stood looking about, and then set off 
rapidly down hill as if they had decided to go on to 
Jedburgh. 

When their footsteps died away Foster turned back 
along the hedge and struck across the moor in the 
dark. It would be better to avoid Jedburgh, and he 
must try to find the house that Pete had told him of. 
He had some trouble in doing so and on the way fell 
into a bog, but at length a light blinked on a hillside 
and he came to a small building, sheltered by a few 
stunted ash trees. A shed thatched with heather and 
a rough stone byre stood near the house, and a big 
peat-stack filled one end of a miry yard. A dog ran 
out and circled around Foster, barking, until an old 
man with a lantern drove it off and asked what he 
wanted. 

Foster said he wanted shelter for the night and was 


140 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


willing to pay for the accommodation, to which the 
other replied that they did not take in strangers. When 
Foster stated that Long Pete had told him to go there 
he hesitated, and finally said, “Weel, ye can come awa’ 
in and see the mistress.” 

The flagged kitchen was very clean and a big peat 
fire burned in the grate. A black oak meal-chest stood 
against the wall and old-fashioned china filled the rack 
above. On the opposite side there was a large cup¬ 
board, which Foster thought concealed a bed. The 
room was warm and looked comfortable after the wet 
moor. Then Foster turned to the red-cheeked old 
woman who sat knitting by the fire and fixed on him a 
quietly-scrutinizing gaze. He explained that he was 
tired and wanted to stay the night, adding that Pete 
had said they would be willing to accommodate him. 

“What for no’, if ye’re a friend o’ his?” she asked. 
“It’s a lang road to Jedburgh. But ye’ll be wanting 
some supper.” 

Foster confessed that he was hungry and after a 
time sat down to a plain but appetizing meal. When 
this was over he gave his host his tobacco pouch and 
for an hour or two they talked and smoked. The man 
farmed a patch of sour moss-land, but he was marked 
by a grave politeness and asked his guest no awkward 
questions. Foster thought the woman was studying 
him, but she restrained her curiosity and he admitted 
that the manners of both were remarkably good. He 
was beginning to understand and like the lowland 
Scots, though he saw that some of the opinions he 
had formed about them were wrong. 

They were reserved, essentially practical, and indus¬ 
trious, but they had, when one came to know them, a 


FOSTER SEES A LIGHT 


141 


certain reckless humor that one did not often find 
among Englishmen. Then they were marked by an 
individualistic independence of character that made 
them impatient of authority. They were not turbulent 
or given to protesting about freedom, but they could 
not be cajoled or driven. It was strange to find a well- 
organized fraternity of poachers in a quiet, law-keep¬ 
ing country, but one must allow something for habits 
inherited from moss-trooper ancestors. Foster had 
noted their respect for good landlords of ancient stock, 
but this did not prevent them using the landlord’s sal¬ 
mon and game. Since he had, so to speak, been made 
a member of the band, it was comforting to feel that 
they could be trusted, and he was somehow sure of 
this. 

He slept soundly in the cupboard bed and made an 
excuse for staying at the farm next day, but as he 
stood outside the house in the afternoon his host came 

tip. 

“There were two men on the Jedburgh road asking 
about a stranger on a walking tour.” 

“Ah!” said Foster. “Do you know whether they 
asked if the man they wanted wore a glove?” 

“They did that!” 

Foster pondered. He was being searched for, and 
his host knew he was the man inquired about, but the 
old fellow’s face was expressionless. 

“Since I didn’t get so far as the road, they’d learn 
nothing.” 

The other’s eyes twinkled. “I wouldna’ say they 
would find out much if they cam’ up here.” 

“Well,” said Foster, “I don’t know yet if I’ll go 
on to-day or not.” 


142 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“Ye ken best aboot that,” the farmer answered with 
Scottish dryness. “I dinna’ see much objection if 
ye’re for stopping another night.” 

He went off, but Foster felt satisfied that he was 
safe with him, and presently strolled round to the 
peat-stack where he sat down in the sun. There was 
a hollow where the peats had been pulled out, and the 
brown dust was warm and dry. Lighting his pipe, he 
began to think. He was being watched, but whether 
by the police, or Daly, or somebody else, there was 
nothing to show. He did not think his poaching ad¬ 
venture had much to do with it, but he had taken the 
packet to Newcastle, although he had been warned 
against this. There was a mystery about the packet. 

For a time he got no further, and as he sat, gazing 
vacantly across the moor, the sun went behind a cloud 
and the freshening wind whistled round the stack. It 
got cold and Foster’s pipe burned out, but he did not 
move. Hitherto he had been working in the dark, 
feeling for a clew, but he began to see a glimmer of 
light and presently clenched his fist with an exclama¬ 
tion. The light dawned on him in an illuminating 
flash. 

He had been tricked and made a tool. Carmen had 
acted by her father’s, or somebody else’s, orders when 
she gave him the packet, and the man in Edinburgh 
had enclosed something before he sent him on to New¬ 
castle. Nobody would suspect him and that was why 
he had been entrusted with the packet in Canada. 
It was now clear that he had been made use of to carry 
the stolen bonds to Great Britain. Carmen, of course, 
knew nothing about them, but had been influenced 
by Daly. Perhaps she was in love with him, but in 


FOSTER SEES A LIGHT 


143 


the meantime this did not matter. Foster filled his 
pipe again, because he meant to solve the puzzle while 
the light was clear and his brain was working well. 

Alice Featherstone had given him the first hint of 
the truth when she suggested that the packet was 
somehow connected with his being watched and Daly’s 
pursuit of Lawrence. Of course it was! The police 
had not much ground for suspecting him, but he had 
come to England without any obvious business, and if 
Hulton or his agents had warned them, they would 
inquire about strangers from Canada. Then he began 
to see why Daly was determined to find Lawrence. 

Fred Hulton had been robbed and killed and Daly 
was implicated in the crime, if he had not committed 
it himself. The fellow’s first object was not black¬ 
mail; he meant to use his power over Lawrence to 
ensure his secrecy. Lawrence was the only person who 
had seen the murderer. It could not have been clear 
if he had mistaken him for the watchman or not when 
he went into the pay-office at the factory, and as long 
as a doubt remained Lawrence was the greatest danger 
the gang had to reckon on. Foster felt sure there was 
a gang. Admitting all this, one could understand why 
Daly meant to find Lawrence, but Foster began to see 
how he could make use of the situation. 

He had been easily deceived and the plotters no 
doubt thought him a fool. Suppose he took advantage 
of their belief and asked for an answer to his message 
or something of the kind? He might by good luck get 
a letter or find out enough about them to explain what 
had ‘happened in Canada. The vague plan appealed 
to him strongly. He was savage at the way he had 
been tricked, and it would be something to circumvent 


144 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


the people who had made him a tool. Besides, he 
could not go to the police yet: Lawrence’s secret must 
be kept. He must first of all gain such a hold on Daly 
as would render him powerless to injure his comrade. 
After that, when he knew how far the man was impli¬ 
cated in the robbery, he could decide what ought to be 
done. Well, he would go to Newcastle and see 
Graham, to whom he had given the packet, but he 
might need help and thought he knew where to find 
it. Getting up with a quick, resolute movement, he 
went back to the house. 

“I’m going to write to Pete and bring him here,” 
he said to the woman. “I don’t suppose you’ll turn 
me out before he comes.” 

She gave him a quiet, searching glance, and her 
husband seemed to leave the matter to her. 

“For a’ his poaching, ye’ll find Pate an honest 
man,” she answered meaningly. 

“So am I; it’s an honest man I want. You have 
trusted me and I’ll trust you as far as I can when Pete 
arrives. Shall we leave it until then?” 

The woman nodded. “Ye can stay until he ken 
what yere business is.” 

“Thank you,” said Foster, who sat down to write 
to Pete. 

He thought her judgment would be just, if she had 
not already decided in his favor. Until he came to 
Scotland, he had never met people who could say so 
little and mean so much. Moreover, he imagined one 
could depend upon their standing by all that they 
implied. They were taciturn but staunch. 


XV 


THE GLOVE 

TJETE arrived in the evening when it was getting 
dark, and after a meal, which they ate together, 
Foster moved his chair back from the table and sat 
opposite his companions. A lamp was burning and 
the red glow from the peat fire fell on their rough 
clothing and quiet brown faces as they waited for him 
to speak. He admitted that what he was about to do 
was rash. He had no logical reason for trusting these 
people and perhaps no right to involve them in his 
difficulties, while the sensible course would be to put 
the matter in the hands of the police. But this was a 
course he did not mean to take. 

"I sent for you because I want your help and I’m 
willing to pay for it well,” he said to Pete. 

“Just that!” Pete answered quietly. “In an ordi¬ 
nal way, I’m no’ verra particular, but before I take 
the money I’d like to ken how it’s to be earned.” 

“As a matter of fact, you won’t get all of it until 
it is earned and I see how much the job is worth. In 
the meantime, you can judge, and if necessary go to 
the police.” 

Pete grinned. “They’re no’ the kin’ o’ gentry I 
hae mony dealings with.” 

“What for are ye hiding frae them?” the woman 
asked. 


i45 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


146 

Foster saw the others’ eyes were fixed on him 
and he must, to some extent, satisfy their curiosity. 
He did not think he could have convinced conventional 
Englishmen, or perhaps Canadians, but these Scots 
were different. They were certainly not less shrewd 
than the others, but while sternly practical in many 
ways they had imagination; moreover, they were de¬ 
scendants of the Border cattle-thieves. 

“I’m not really hiding from the police, but from 
people who have better grounds for fearing them. I 
owe nobody anything and, so far as I know, have done 
nobody wrong.” 

There was silence for a moment or two and he rec¬ 
ognized that his statement was very incomplete, but 
somehow thought the others did not discredit it. 

“If I could tell you the whole story, I would, but 
that’s impossible just now,” he resumed. “Other peo¬ 
ple, honorable, upright people, are involved. Of 
course, the thing looks suspicious, and you know noth¬ 
ing about me, but what I mean to do is not against 
the law.” 

They were silent yet, but after a few moments Fos¬ 
ter saw his host glance at the woman. 

“What is it ye mean to do?” she asked. 

“I’m going to Newcastle to try to get some informa¬ 
tion and papers that will help me to save a friend from 
serious trouble. That’s my first object, but I hope to 
find out something about a crime in Canada, by which 
another friend of mine suffered terribly. I may have 
to steal the papers, and if I get them, expect I shall 
have to deal with a gang of dangerous men, who will 
try to take them back. That’s why I want Pete; but 
he’ll probably find it a risky business.” 


THE GLOVE 


147 

Foster waited anxiously for a reply. He was not 
justified in expecting it to be favorable, but he did 
so. The woman seemed to ponder, but presently 
turned to Pete. 

“Ye had better gang.” 

Pete laughed, a reckless laugh that hinted at a love 
of excitement and danger. 

“Aye,” he said, “that’s what I was thinking!” 

After this the matter was soon arranged, and next 
morning Foster and Pete set off. They went south by 
hill-tracks, for Foster meant to visit the Garth, but 
preferred to arrive when dusk was falling. He did 
not want his visit to be marked, but must see Alice 
before he embarked upon his new adventure. 

The sun was setting behind the moors when they 
came down the waterside, and leaving Pete in the 
gloom of the fir wood, he walked through a shrubbery 
to the house. He had seen nothing to indicate that 
he was watched and could trust Pete to see that no¬ 
body followed him from the road, but he meant to take 
precautions and did not want to meet Featherstone. 
When he left the shrubbery he had only a few yards 
of open lawn to cross and the light was dim beside 
the house, but he kept off the graveled terrace until 
he was abreast of the door. He was now faced by a 
difficulty, but must leave something to chance and felt 
relieved when John answered his quiet knock. The 
man showed no surprise at seeing him. 

“Mr. Featherstone is out, sir, and Mrs. Feather- 
stone occupied, but Miss Featherstone is at home,” he 
said. 

“Will you ask her if she can meet me for a few 
minutes in the orchard ?” 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


148 

“Very good, sir; I will take your message.” 

Foster turned away. He had given John no hint 
to keep his visit secret, because this would be useless. 
If the old fellow thought it his duty to tell his master, 
he would do so; if not, one could trust to his discre¬ 
tion. Entering the orchard by an arch in a mossy 
wall, he waited where a soft light shone into it from 
the west. Outside the arch, the smooth sweep of lawn 
ran back into deepening shadow and the bare trees be¬ 
hind it rose, sharp and black, against the sky. Above 
there was a heavy bank of gray-blue clouds. 

Then his heart began to beat as Alice appeared in 
the arch. Her figure was silhouetted against the light 
and he noted how finely she held herself and moved. 
Still he could not see her face and waited with some 
uneasiness until she advanced and gave him her hand. 

“I hoped you would come,” he said. “But I was 
half afraid-” 

Alice smiled and as she turned her head the fading 
glow touched her face. It gave no hint of resentment 
or surprise. 

“That I would not come?” she suggested. “After 
all, I really think men are more conventional than we 
are. But why did you not let John bring you in?” 

“When I was last here, I noted a change in your 
father’s manner. That is one reason, though there are 
others. Then I must go in two or three minutes.” 

Alice looked at him steadily and he knew that frank¬ 
ness was best. 

“You mean you thought he had lost his confidence 
in you?” 

“I was afraid he might find it getting strained. He 
seemed disturbed.” 



THE GLOVE 


149 

“He is disturbed,” Alice said quietly. “We have 
heard nothing from my brother yet.” 

“One can sympathize with you, but I don’t think 
you have much ground for uneasiness. Lawrence was 
told he must be careful, but that was all, and there’s 
no likelihood of his health’s suddenly breaking down. 
Then I understand he was rather irregular about writ¬ 
ing home; he forgot now and then.” 

“He did forget,” Alice agreed and fixed her eyes 
on Foster while a slight flush crept into her face. 
“Perhaps I had better say I do not altogether share 
my father’s anxiety.” 

Foster felt a thrill, for he thought she meant she 
had not lost her confidence in him. 

“I’d like to go back and look for Lawrence, but 
can’t do so yet,” he said. “For one thing, it might 
put Daly on his track and it’s now important that he 
shouldn’t meet Lawrence in Canada. There have been 
developments; in fact, I have come to think Daly 
had something to do with sending the packet I took 
to Newcastle.” 

“Then Miss Austin was in the plot against my 
brother and made use of you?” 

“No; she certainly made use of me, but I imagine 
others made use of her. There is a plot, but I don’t 
believe she knew anything about it.” 

“I suppose you feel you must defend the girl?” 

“In a way,” Foster agreed. “Carmen Austin is a 
friend of mine; but I’m not sure she really needs 
defending. Anyhow, if I’d known what was in the 
packet, I wouldn’t have taken it.” 

“Then you have found out what was in it?” 

“I have a suspicion. I’m going to see how far it’s 


150 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


justified, and if I’m fortunate, rather think the people 
who sent me to Newcastle will be sorry.” 

Alice said nothing for a few moments, but he 
thought she grasped the significance of his hint that 
he was willing to spoil the plans of Carmen’s friends. 
He did not know if this gave her any satisfaction, but 
did not expect her to show her feelings. 

“Can you tell me anything more?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said. “I feel I ought to tell somebody, 
because it may turn out rather a serious undertaking. 
One reason for choosing you is that it’s a complicated 
and unlikely tale.” 

“And you thought I would believe where others 
might doubt?” 

Foster bowed. “I did hope something of the kind. 
I don’t know if I was too venturesome. But if you’ll 
listen-” 

She gave him a curious look and he began by telling 
her of the tragedy at the Hulton mill and Lawrence’s 
meeting the supposititious watchman. Then he related 
how he had been tracked through the hills, and ex¬ 
plained the conclusions he had arrived at when the 
light first dawned on him as he puzzled out the matter 
by the peat stack. She said nothing until he finished, 
but he thought she looked somewhat moved. 

“But wouldn’t it be better to leave the thing to the 
police?” she asked. 

“No,” said Foster, smiling. “To begin with, they 
might suspect me; one understands they’re not very 
credulous people and it would take some time to prove 
my statements. Then, if they weren’t very careful, 
they’d frighten the Newcastle man away, while I 
might, so to speak, catch him off his guard.” 



THE GLOVE 


151 

“It sounds plausible; but I think you have a better 
reason.” 

“If I have, it’s to some extent temperamental; a 
natural reaction after leading a sober life,” Foster said 
humorously. “There’s a charm in trying to do some¬ 
thing that’s really beyond your mark and ought to be 
left to somebody else.” 

“It’s possible; but I’m not satisfied yet.” 

Foster hesitated. “After all, it might be better to 
keep the police off Daly’s track until I’ve seen him. 
He might make trouble for Lawrence if he was arrest¬ 
ed, but I don’t think this counts for much. You would 
be nearer the mark if you took it for granted that I’m 
naturally rash and can’t resist a chance of adventure.” 

They had walked round the orchard, and reached 
the arch again, but Alice stopped. 

“So it seems,” she said in a quiet voice that never¬ 
theless gave a Foster a thrill. “The charm of rashness 
is a favorite subject of yours.” 

“It’s better that your friends should understand 
you,” Foster replied modestly. 

“One must admit that you live up to the character 
you give yourself. First you plunged into difficulties 
to keep a promise you should not have made, then 
you undertook to baffie a dangerous man because your 
partner needed help, and now I think you are going to 
face a very serious risk.” 

Foster, who felt embarrassed, said nothing, and 
Alice gave him her hand. 

“I am glad you have been frank with me, and if my 
wish can bring you good fortune, it will be yours. 
You will do your best, I know; but be careful and 
come back safe!” 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


152 

Foster had kissed her hand on another occasion, 
but durst not do so now. He was conscious of a keen 
emotional stirring and thought the girl felt some 
strain. There was a hint of suppressed feeling in her 
voice that sapped his self-control, and he thought it 
was because she trusted and liked him her manner had 
a certain touch of pride. 

“After all, I don’t think I run much risk,” he an¬ 
swered. “But if there was a risk, it would be well 
worth while.” 

It was nearly dark, but he thought he saw some 
color in her face. 

“Good luck! But wait in the road for a minute 
or two,” she said and turned away. 

He watched her cross the lawn until her figure faded 
into the gloom, after which he went back to the gate 
and waited until John came up with a small packet. 

“Miss Featherstone sends you this, sir, but hopes 
you won’t open it until you are in the train.” 

Foster thanked him and went back with Pete up the 
waterside. The air was keen and a light mist hung 
about the rough track that took them to the moors. 
There was a beat of wings as a flock of wild duck 
passed overhead when they skirted a reedy pool, and 
once or twice the wild cry of a curlew came out of the 
dark. Except for this, the moor was silent and deso¬ 
late, but Foster felt a strange poignant elation as he 
stumbled among the ruts and splashed across boggy 
grass. They walked for two or three hours and he 
was muddy and rather wet when the lights of a small 
station began to twinkle in the gloom ahead. 

Half an hour later they caught a train to Hexham, 
and Foster, who sent Pete to a smoking compartment, 


THE GLOVE 


153 


was alone when he opened the packet John had 
brought. Then the blood rushed to his face and his 
heart beat, for when he unfolded the thin paper he saw 
a small white glove. Remembering how they had 
once talked about Border chivalry, he knew what Alice 
meant. She believed his tale and knew the risks he 
ran, and had sent him her glove that he might carry 
it as her badge. He folded the piece of delicate kid 
carefully and put it in a pocket where it rested upon 
his heart. 

“After this, Fve got to put my job over, whatever 
it costs,” he said. 


XVI 


A DIFFICULT PART 

T T was four o’clock in the afternoon when Foster 
stopped in front of the grimy building where 
Graham had his office, and looked up and down the 
street. Close by, a carter stood at the head of an 
impatient horse that stamped and rattled its harness, 
and a hoist clanked as a bale of goods went up to a 
top story; but except for this the street was quiet. 
Farther off, one or two moving figures showed indis¬ 
tinctly, for rain was falling and the light getting dim. 
Foster, who had arrived in Newcastle that morning, 
had waited, thinking it might suit him better to leave 
the town in the dark. 

“Go back to the end of the street, where you can 
see the clock,” he said to Pete. “If I don’t join you 
in half an hour, run to the nearest police station and 
ask for a man to search the top office in this building.” 

“The polis are no’ good friends o’ mine,” Pete re¬ 
plied doubtfully. “I would sooner come for ye my 
lane. There’s an airnmonger’s roon’ the corner, where 
I would maybe get a shairp gairden fork.” 

Foster laughed. Pete’s methods were too primitive, 
although, in his strong hands, the fork would prove a 
dangerous weapon. 

“I don’t expect you’d be able to help much if I’m 
not back when I said. But you can walk along the 
i54 


A DIFFICULT PART 


155 

street now and then, and notice anybody who leaves 
the building/’ 

He went in and set his lips as he climbed the stairs, 
for he imagined he would need all the tact and coolness 
he possessed. He had been made the tool of people 
who thought him an unsuspecting simpleton, but was 
uncertain how far it would be safe to trade upon this 
view of his character, although he meant to do so to 
some extent. There might be an advantage in hinting 
that he knew a little about their business; but he must 
make no mistakes. His steps echoed hollowly along 
the top landing and there was something daunting in 
the gloom, for the gas had not yet been lighted and 
the building was very quiet. It was possible that he 
had started on this adventure with a rashness as great 
as his folly in undertaking Carmen’s errand, but he 
carried Alice Featherstone’s glove and it was unthink¬ 
able that he should turn back. 

There was nobody in the outer office when he opened 
the door, but after he had knocked once or twice a 
voice he recognized told him to come in and he strolled 
carelessly into Graham’s room. Sitting down, he 
offered his cigarette case to Graham, who glanced at 
him with some surprise but took a cigarette while 
Foster lighted another. It would be easier to look 
languidly indifferent if he could smoke. Graham 
pushed aside some papers on his desk as if impatient 
at being disturbed. He was dressed and looked like 
a sober business man, and Foster admitted that it was 
ridiculous to imagine him to be anything else. 

“I’m rather busy just now,” he said. “For all that, 
if I can be of any use to you, Mr.-” 



CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


156 

Foster thought he overdid it by pretending to forget 
his name, but he smiled. 

“Foster. You’ll recollect I brought you a packet, 
and as I’m going back to Canada soon, I imagined I 
might take Miss Austin or Daly a reply. You can see 
that they thought me a reliable messenger.” 

“Miss Austin obviously did so,” Graham admitted. 

“Doesn’t this imply that Daly shared her good opin¬ 
ion?” Foster asked. 

Graham glanced at him sharply and then picked up 
a letter and studied it, but Foster imagined he wanted 
time to think. He had made the plunge and indicated 
that he knew more than the other supposed; but the 
rest needed care. 

“You expect to meet Daly when you get back to 
Canada?” Graham inquired, and Foster, who saw that 
he was cautious, wondered whether he was alarmed. 

“Oh, no; I expect to meet him before I start.” 

“You imply that he’s in England.” 

“Don’t you know he is?” Foster rejoined. 

Graham knocked the ash off his cigarette and looked 
at him curiously. His appearance was commonplace, 
he had a slight stoop, and was not muscular, but Fos¬ 
ter felt he might prove dangerous. 

“I don’t know where he is just now. Do you?” 

“Well,” said Foster, “I believe I could find him if 
I tried.” 

The other was silent for the next few moments and 
Foster waited with some anxiety. If he pretended to 
know too much, he might be found out, but if Graham 
imagined he knew nothing, he would hesitate about 
informing him. The difficulty was that while he 
played the part of a simpleton who had been made use 


A DIFFICULT PART 


157 

of by the rest of the gang, he must imply that they 
had to some extent taken him into their confidence. 

“To tell the truth, I haven’t heard from Daly for a 
month,” Graham replied. “This has disadvantages 
and I’ll own that I’d like to know what he is doing.” 

“Then it looks as if I was better informed. Mr. 
Daly’s engaged in some private business.” 

“Private business ?” 

“Just so,” Foster answered, smiling. “He imagines 
it will turn out profitable, but I expect it will take up 
much of his time.” 

“But-” said Graham, and stopped. 

Foster made a sign of comprehension. “You feel 
he oughtn’t to have any business that might interfere 
with his duty to the rest of you?” 

“What do you know about his duty?” Graham 
asked. 

“Well,” said Foster, “I frankly don’t know very 
much. In fact, it looks as if your Canadian friends 
didn't trust me very far, but just told me enough to 
make me understand my job. No doubt, that was 
wisest, although it’s not flattering. Anyhow, I brought 
you a packet with some valuable enclosures, which 
ought to justify your sending back any confidential 
message to the people it came from by me.” 

He had made a bold venture, but saw that he was 
right, for Graham knitted his brows, as if he was 
thinking hard. Then he said, “Very well. As it hap¬ 
pens, there are some papers I would like to send, and if 
you don’t mind taking them, I’ll give you a letter to 
Daly and another to Miss Austin.” 

“Miss Austin, of course, will pass the letter on.” 

“That’s understood,” Graham agreed. 



CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


158 

Foster carelessly lighted a fresh cigarette, and 
Graham, leaning forward, opened a safe and took out 
one or two papers that Foster could not see well. So 
far, the latter had done better than he had hoped, and 
in another few minutes would be in the possession of 
papers that might throw a useful light upon the plot. 
Yet the strain was beginning to tell and his nerves 
tingled as he watched his companion write. 

A lamp with a broken mantle flickered above Gra¬ 
ham’s head and the stove crackled, but the outer office, 
the door of which was open, was dark, and the build¬ 
ing was strangely quiet. No sound rose from the 
narrow street below, which ran like a still backwater 
among the tall warehouses. Foster, putting his hand 
in his pocket as if to feel for matches, touched the 
small Browning pistol he had brought. He was not 
afraid of Graham, but somebody might come in. At 
length the man sealed two envelopes and put them be¬ 
side his writing-pad. 

“If you cannot find Daly, you must bring the first 
back to me. When do you sail ?” 

“I don’t know yet; I haven’t looked up the steam¬ 
ship companies’ notices,” Foster answered, and as 
soon as he had spoken saw that he had made a mis¬ 
take. 

He had led Graham to believe he was going at once; 
indeed, this was his excuse for offering to take a mes¬ 
sage, but he remembered that in order to get a good 
room on a fast boat it was necessary to book one’s 
passage some time in advance. He thought Graham 
had marked the slip, although his face was expres¬ 
sionless. 


A DIFFICULT PART 


159 

“I don’t want the letters carried about for long,” 
he said. 

“Certainly not,” Foster agreed. “If I’m delayed, 
or can’t get hold of Daly as soon as I thought, I’ll 
bring them back. However, I’ve kept you from your 
business and must get off.” 

Graham did not move, and the letters were out of 
Foster’s reach. 

“You have got your instructions from Gascoyne 
and know what to do if you have any trouble on your 
journey?” 

Foster felt embarrassed. He did not know if Gas¬ 
coyne was the man he had gone to in Edinburgh, and 
durst not risk a fresh mistake. Besides, it was possible 
that there was not such a person among the other’s 
friends and the question was a trap. 

“No,” he said boldly. “I can get all the instruc¬ 
tions that are needful when I meet Daly. Give me 
the letters.” 

“I think not. It would be better to wait until we 
hear what Gascoyne has to say, since you haven’t seen 
him as I thought. He may have something to send 
with the other documents. Suppose you come back 
about this time to-morrow.” 

Foster feared he was found out, and imagined that 
if he agreed, he would find the office closed and 
Graham gone; unless perhaps the fellow waited for 
him with one or two of his accomplices. Foster was 
certain he had accomplices. He knew he was playing 
a dangerous game, but he carried Alice Featherstone’s 
glove and meant to get the letters. 

“No,” he said. “I’m willing to do you a favor, 
particularly as I want something to show my friends 


160 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

in Canada that I brought the packet safe. But I’m 
not going to put myself to much inconvenience. You 
have written the letters. Let me have them; I must 
catch my train.” 

He put his hand on the Browning pistol and was 
glad to feel it there, though he hardly thought he would 
be forced to draw it. He was physically stronger than 
Graham, but it had come to a trial of nerve and he 
knew he had a cunning antagonist. Besides, he could 
not tell how much longer they would be left alone and 
he might be in serious danger if somebody else came 
in. Still, he must not look anxious and quietly fixed 
his eyes on Graham’s face. 

“I can’t take the risk,” the latter declared. “Will 
you wait until I see if I can get Gascoyne on the tele¬ 
phone ?” 

The telephone was in the other office and Foster 
durst not let the man out of his sight. 

“I’ve been here long enough and have just time to 
get to the station.” 

There was silence for a few moments and Foster 
felt his heart beat. He meant to finish the interview 
as it had begun, without doing anything unusual, but 
if this was impossible, he had another plan. His mus¬ 
cles were stiffened ready for a spring; he would pin the 
fellow to his desk while he seized the letters. Though 
he meant to look calm, his face got very grim; but 
Graham carelessly pushed the letters towards him. 

“Very well! You will take the responsibility if 
there’s any trouble.” 

“I will,” said Foster, as coolly as he could, and 
picked up the envelopes. “Sorry if I’ve detained you. 
Good afternoon.” 


A DIFFICULT PART 


161 


He was half afraid to turn his back to the other, 
but there was no avoiding this and he heard no sus¬ 
picious movement until he reached the door. Then, 
as he expected, the telephone bell rang, and Foster, 
running down the steps, drew a breath of relief when 
he reached the street. It was now dark, but he felt 
comforted as he saw Pete’s tall figure in the gloom. 

“Look behind you now and then and tell me if any¬ 
body follows us,” he said, and knowing that Pete’s 
eyes could be trusted, carefully reviewed the situation 
when they turned into a busy street. 

It was obvious that the conclusions he had come to 
by the peat-stack were correct, and the police, who 
were obviously watching him, thought he might know 
something about the Hulton tragedy. If so, his move¬ 
ments had not been calculated to allay their suspicions. 
He had now papers that were probably dangerous in 
his pocket, and if he were caught before he got rid of 
them, it would be difficult to prove his innocence. The 
safe line would be to make for the nearest police sta¬ 
tion and give up the documents. So long as he kept 
them, he had as much to fear from the police as from 
Daly’s gang. But he did not mean to give them up 
just yet. 

His duty to the State was plain, but he was frankly 
determined to save his comrade first, and imagined 
that he could do so, although the thing would be 
difficult. For all that, Daly must be forced to keep 
Lawrence’s secret. Then he had, to some extent, dis¬ 
credited Daly with his accomplice by informing 
Graham that he was engaged upon some profitable pri¬ 
vate business. It looked as if Graham did not know 
what the fellow’s object was; after all, the gang might 


162 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


not trust each other very far. The trouble was that 
Daly might not be easily found, and in the meantime 
Foster had two dangers to guard against; but he meant 
to be careful, and to tell the police all he knew as soon 
as he had dealt with Daly. 

Nothing indicated that they were followed on their 
way to the Central Station, where Foster left Pete 
outside and ascertained that a train would shortly 
start for Carlisle. He would have liked to travel by 
it, since he expected to find Daly near the western 
Border. Besides, it was prudent to leave Newcastle 
as soon as he could, since his injured hand made him 
easily distinguishable and Graham had run to the tele¬ 
phone. The latter would not have let him take the 
papers without a struggle had he not some plan of 
getting them back. Foster did not know how many 
accomplices Graham had, but imagined he had to deal 
with a well-organized gang, who would find it much 
easier to watch the railway than the lonely moors 
between it and the Cheviots. Making his way through 
a crowd on a busy platform, he left the station by 
another door, where he met Pete, whom he had sent 
round. It was possible that these precautions were 
needless, but he did not mean to take any risk he could 
avoid. 

“Where will ye be for the noo?” Pete asked. 

“The head of Liddesdale, to begin with. But I 
don’t know yet if we’ll go west by the old military 
road, or across the moors. It will depend upon 
whether the fellow I went to see gets upon my track.” 

Pete’s eyes twinkled. “It will be a clever man 
who tracks us when we tak’ the heather. But have ye 
the papers ye went tae steal ?” 


A DIFFICULT PART 


163 

“I have. If they’re what I think and I can keep 
them safe until I use them, they’re worth twenty 
pounds to you.” 

“Aweel,” said Pete, “I’ll feel mair sure o’ the money 
when we win oot o’ the toon. It’s ower full o’ polis, 
and my talents are no’ o’ much use here.” 

They had left the station and reaching a street 
where Foster made some inquiries, waited in the door 
of an office building until a tram-car came up. Getting 
in, they were carried through the wet and smoky 
streets towards the city’s western outskirts. 


XVII 


THE LETTERS 

T HE sky had cleared when Foster left the car at 
the end of the line and headed towards open 
country. On the whole, he thought he was fortunate 
to get out of Newcastle safe, because there were 
grounds for believing that Graham had found out the 
trick. If this were so, he would certainly try to re¬ 
cover the documents. On the surface, it seemed 
strange that the fellow had let him take them away; 
but, when one came to think of it, as soon as he had 
written and sealed the letters he was helpless. 

In order to keep them, he would have had to over¬ 
power Foster, for which he had not the physical 
strength, while any noise they made in the struggle 
might have brought in help. Then supposing that 
Graham had by some chance mastered him, he would 
not have gained much, because Foster would have gone 
to the police when he got away. It was, of course, 
absurd to think that Graham might have killed him, 
since this would have led to his arrest. He had ac¬ 
cordingly given up the letters, but Foster felt he was 
not safe yet. He might be attacked in some cunning 
way that would prevent his assailants being traced. 
It depended upon whether the documents were worth 
the risk, and he would know this soon. 

In the meantime he was entering a belt of 
164 


THE LETTERS 


165 

ugly industrial country. Now and then the reflected 
glare of a furnace quivered in the sky; tall chimney- 
stacks and mounds of refuse showed faintly in the 
dark, and he passed clusters of fiercely burning lights 
and dull red fires. He supposed they marked pithead 
banks and coke-ovens; but pushed on steadily towards 
the west. He wanted to put some distance between 
himself and Newcastle before he stopped. 

After a time a row of lights twinkled ahead and, 
getting nearer, he saw chimneys, dark skeleton towers 
of timber, and jets of steam behind the houses. It 
was a colliery village, and when he passed the first 
lamps he vacantly noticed the ugliness of the place. 
The small, grimy houses were packed as close as they 
could be got, the pavement was covered with black 
mud, and the air filled with acrid smoke. Presently, 
however, he came to a pretentious hotel, built of glar¬ 
ing red brick and ornamented with sooty paint. He 
wondered what accounted for its being planted there; 
but it offered shelter for the night and he went in. 

He admitted that he had slept in worse places than 
the room he was shown, although it looked far from 
comfortable, but the supper he got was good, and he 
afterwards entered a small room behind the bar. 
There was a bright fire, near which he sat down when 
Pete went away. The strain he had borne had brought 
its reaction; he felt tired and slack. There was an¬ 
other room across the passage, and he smelt rank 
tobacco and heard voices speaking a harsh dialect 
and the tramp of heavy boots on boards. The door 
was open and men with curiously pale faces that did 
not look clean passed now and then. Foster thought 


166 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

they were colliers and he had nothing to fear from 
them. 

He had two or three companions, who sat round a 
small table and seemed by their talk to belong to a 
football committee. The landlord treated them with 
some deference, as if they were important people, but 
Foster wished they would go. He wanted to examine 
the letters, but thought it safer to wait until he was 
alone, since inquiries might afterwards be made about 
him. At length the footballers went way, and shutting 
the door, he turned his chair so that he could see 
anybody who came in, without looking round. It 
was satisfactory to note that the table would be be¬ 
tween him and a new-comer. 

Before opening the letters, he tried to recollect what 
had happened in Graham’s office. The fellow sat in 
front of a desk with a row of pigeon-holes and sides 
that prevented Foster’s noting exactly what he did 
after he began to write. In consequence, Foster could 
not tell if he had put anything except the letters in 
the envelopes, although he had taken some papers 
from the safe. It looked as if Graham had not meant 
him to see and had not trusted him altogether from 
the beginning. Now he probably knew he was an 
impostor, although this was not quite certain. Foster 
took out the envelopes, and broke the seal of the first, 
which was addressed to Daly, without hesitation. 

It contained a tourist agency’s circular cheque for a 
moderate sum, payable by coupons at any of the com¬ 
pany’s offices in England and Canada, and Foster saw 
the advantage of this, because, as the offices were 
numerous, one could not tell where the coupons would 
be cashed. Then he found a letter, which he thought 


THE LETTERS 


167 

bore out his conclusions, although, on the surface, it 
did not tell him much. It stated that Jackson’s 'busi¬ 
ness had been satisfactorily transacted in Berlin, but 
the Hamburg matter had not been arranged yet. Las- 
celles had had some difficulties in Paris, but expected 
to negotiate a sale. 

Foster carefully folded the papers and replaced 
them in his pocket. The names were probably false, 
but they stood for agents of the gang, whose business 
was, no doubt, the sale of the stolen bonds. He re¬ 
membered Percival, the treasurer’s, statement that the 
securities might be disposed of on a Continental 
bourse, and Hulton’s reluctance to advertise their loss. 
Well, he now had proof that Daly was, at least, a 
party to the theft, and ground for believing him to 
be open to a more serious charge. The fellow was 
in his power. 

He, however, hesitated a moment before opening 
the letter to Carmen. He was half-afraid of finding 
her to some extent implicated in the plot; and it was 
with relief he saw nothing but another envelope inside 
the first, which he threw into the fire. The enclosed 
envelope was addressed to a man he did not know, and 
he thought Carmen’s part would be confined to giving 
it to her father, or somebody else, who would pass it 
on. Tearing it open, he found a cheque on an Ameri¬ 
can bank for a thousand dollars, but the payee’s name 
was different from that on the cover. Foster put it 
away and lighted his pipe. 

Some of the bonds had obviously been sold and 
there were a number of men in the plot, though it was 
possible that they did not know all about the Hulton 
tragedy. Foster understood that one could dispose 


i68 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


of stolen securities through people who would under¬ 
take the dangerous business without asking awkward 
questions, if the profit were high enough. Still he 
thought Graham knew, and this would give him an 
incentive stronger than his wish to save the money 
for trying to get the letters back. Indeed, Foster 
imagined that he was now in serious danger. Graham’s 
run to the telephone had alarmed him. 

Nobody came in and by degrees the room across 
the passage got quiet as its occupants went away. It 
was some relief that the noise had stopped, but Foster 
liked to feel that there were people about. He was 
tired and began to get drowsy as he lounged in front 
of the fire, but roused himself with an effort, knowing 
he ought to keep awake. For all that, he did not hear 
the door open, and got up with a start as a man came 
in. Then his alarm vanished for Pete stood looking 
at him with a sympathetic twinkle. 

“I ken what ye feel,” the latter remarked. “It’s 
like meeting a keeper when ye hae a hare in the lining 
o’ yere coat.” 

“Yes,” said Foster, “I expect it’s something like 
that. But where have you been ?” 

“Roon’ the toon, though it’s no’ verra big or bonnie. 
Then I stopped a bit in the bar o’ the ither hotel. 
Sixpence goes some way, if ye stick to beer.” 

“I hope you didn’t say much if there were strangers 
about.” 

Pete grinned. “I said a’ I could; aboot the sheep 
and bullocks we were going to look at up Bellingham 
way; but, if it’s only comfort, there’s no strangers 
in the place but a commaircial who deals with the 
grossers and anither who got a good order from the 


THE LETTERS 


169 

colliery. Maybe that’s worth the money for the beer!” 

“It certainly is,” Foster agreed. “We’ll have a 
reckoning at the end of the journey, but here’s your 
sixpence.” Then he looked at his watch. “Well, I 
think it’s late enough to go to bed, and you can order 
breakfast. We had better get off as soon as it’s light.” 

“There’s a train to Hexham at nine o’clock, the 
morn. It might suit ye to start for the station, even 
if ye dinna’ get there.” 

“No,” said Foster thoughtfully. “We’ll pull out 
by some by-road before that. You see, the train comes 
from Newcastle.” 

He went to his room, which was next to Pete’s, and 
after putting the letters under his pillow quietly moved 
a chest of drawers against the door. The lock was a 
common pattern and could probably be opened by a 
key from any of the neighboring rooms. He was 
half-ashamed of this precaution, but admitted that he 
was getting nervous. Hitherto he had found some 
amusement in leaving a trail for his pursuers, but 
there was a difference now. For all that, he slept 
soundly until he was awakened by a noise at the door. 
It was dark and somebody was trying to get in. Seiz¬ 
ing his pistol, he leaned on one elbow, ready to spring 
out of bed, and then felt keen relief as he heard Pete 
say, “Dinna’ keep on knocking! Leave the hot water 
outside.” 

“Yes; put it down, thanks,” said Foster, who got 
up, feeling angry with himself. 

It looked as if the person outside had been knocking 
for some time, and the landlord’s curiosity might have 
been excited had he heard that his guest had barricaded 
his door. Dressing by gaslight, he found breakfast 


170 


CARMEN'S MESSENGER 


ready when he went down, and day broke soon after 
the meal was over. Foster paid his bill and set off 
with Pete, taking the main road west until they reached 
the end of the village, where some men were working 
on a colliery bank. Pete indicated a lane that branched 
off to the north. 

“Yon’s our way, but Pm thinking we'll gang straight 
on for a bit." 

They followed the main road until the men were out 
of sight, and then crossing some fields, turned into the 
lane they had passed, which rose steadily to higher 
ground. After a time they found another road run¬ 
ning straight towards the west. This was the old mili¬ 
tary road, made when the Romans built the Piet’s wall, 
and long afterwards repaired by General Wade, who 
tried to move his troops across to intercept Prince 
Charlie’s march. Foster sat down for a few minutes 
at the corner and looked back at the distant chimney- 
stacks and trails of smoke. 

The railway and the road by which the main traffic 
went followed the valley of the Tyne, but the military 
road kept to the edge of the bleak moors. He gathered 
from the map that it was, for the most part, lonely, 
and thought Graham would expect him to go by train; 
the latter probably knew enough about him to antici¬ 
pate his making for Liddesdale, and as there were not 
many trains running north from Hexham, would 
reckon on his traveling by Carlisle. If this were so, 
and he was being looked for, his pursuers would now 
be in front of him instead of behind, and he saw some 
advantage in keeping them there. Still he must not 
lose much time in finding Daly; for one thing, it would 
be awkward if the police arrested him while he had 


THE LETTERS 


171 


the checks in his pocket. All the same, he meant to 
visit the Garth, tell Alice he had been successful, ask 
is she had news of Lawrence, and try to overcome 
Featherstone’s suspicions. Then, if Lawrence had 
not written yet, he must go back to Canada as soon 
as he had seen Daly. 

Beyond this Foster’s plans were vague; he did not 
know, for example, how he could force Daly to keep 
Lawrence’s secret, without promising to withhold evi¬ 
dence that would bring the man to justice. But he 
might find a way and was tired of puzzling about the 
matter. In a sense, he had taken a ridiculous line 
from the beginning and perhaps involved himself in 
needless difficulties. His partner, however, must be 
protected, and in the meantime he had two objects; to 
avoid the police and Graham. 

“Perhaps we had better keep the military road un¬ 
til we strike the North Tyne,” he said to Pete. “Then, 
if nothing turns up to prevent it, we might risk stop¬ 
ping for the night at Hexham.” 

Having the day before them, they set off at a lei¬ 
surely pace. The air was cold but still, and bright sun¬ 
shine shone upon the tableland, which rolled north, 
rising steadily towards distant snow-streaked hills. 
Nothing suspicious happened, and late in the afternoon 
they came down into the valley of the North Tyne 
and turned south for Hexham. As they did so they 
passed an inn and Foster stopped. They were some 
distance from Hexham and he felt hungry, while the 
inn looked unusually comfortable. He was tempted 
to go in and order a meal, but hesitated, for no very 
obvious reason. 


172 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


‘We’ll wait and get dinner when we make Hex¬ 
ham,” he said, setting off again. 

A thin wood, separated from the road by a low 
fence, ran between them and the river. The light 
was faint among the trees, the road narrow, and pres¬ 
ently they heard a car coming towards them. It 
was going very fast and when it lurched across an 
opening in the hedge round a bend Foster put his hand 
on the fence and swung himself over. Pete followed 
silently, but when they stood in the shadow among 
the dry undergrowth Foster felt annoyed because he 
had yielded to a half-instinctive impulse. He must, 
of course, be cautious, but there was no reason for 
overdoing it. 

Next moment, the car, which swung towards the 
fence as it took the curve, dashed past, and Foster sef 
his lips as he saw Graham, who seemed to be gazing 
up the road. Then the car vanished among the trees, 
and Pete looked at him curiously. 

“Is yon the man frae Newcastle?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said Foster grimly; “I rather think we were 
just in time. It’s very possible that he’d have run over 
me if I’d been in the road. An accident of that kind 
would have suited him well. But I thought I was a 
fool for jumping.” 

Pete nodded. “I ken! When ye feel ye must do 
a thing, it’s better just to do it and think afterwards.” 
Then he raised his hand. “She’s stopping!” 

The throb of the engine suddenly slackened, as if 
the driver had seen the inn, and Foster got over the 
fence. 

“It’s lucky we didn’t stop for a meal; but, although 
it may be risky, I’m going back.” 


THE LETTERS 


173 

They kept along the side of the road, where the 
ground was soft, but Foster was ready to jump the 
fence if the car returned; the noise would give him 
warning enough. After a few minutes they stopped 
and waited in the gloom of a hedge, where they could 
see the inn. The car stood in the road and it was 
empty. Graham had obviously gone in to make in¬ 
quiries, and Foster wondered whether anybody had 
seen him and his companion pass. He would know 
when Graham came out, and moved a few yards 
farther until he reached a gate, which he opened, ready 
to slip through. There was no need to warn Pete 
now the latter understood matters. One could trust 
a poacher to hide himself quickly. 

Foster felt some strain. It was disturbing to find 
Graham already on his track and he wondered whether 
the fellow had been to Carlisle. It would be awkward 
if he went to Hexham. After a few minutes two men 
came out of the inn and Foster waited anxiously while 
one cranked the car, but they drove on when the en¬ 
gine started. Then, as he turned back, the throbbing 
stopped again and he beckoned Pete. 

“They don't know you and it's getting dark. Go 
on and see which way they take." 

He kept close to the hedge when Pete vanished. 
The car had stopped where the military road cut across 
another that followed the river into the moors, and 
Graham apparently did not know which to take. It 
looked as if the fellow had ascertained that he was 
not at Hexham. After a time he heard the car start. 
It was not coming back, but he could not tell which 
way it went, and waited in the gathering dark for 
Pete’s return. 


174 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“They’d gone before I cam’ up, but I heard her 
rattling on the hill to my left han’,” he said. 

“That means they’ve gone west towards Carlisle.” 

“There’s anither road turns aff and rins north awa’ 
by Bellingham.” 

Foster frowned, because this was the road he meant 
to take next day, and if his pursuers did so now, it 
would be because they expected him to make for the 
Garth. They were, however, in front, where he would 
sooner have them than behind, and he set off down 
the valley for Hexham. He found the old Border 
town, clustering round the tall dark mass of the abbey, 
strangely picturesque; the ancient Moot Hall and mar¬ 
ket square invited his interest, but he shrank from 
wandering about the streets in the dark. Now he had 
Graham’s checks, he must be careful; moreover his 
knapsack and leggings made him conspicuous, and he 
went to a big red hotel. 

He sent Pete to an inn farther on, because it seemed 
advisable that they should not be seen together, 
although he would have liked to know the man was 
about. After dinner, he sat in a quiet nook in the 
smoking-room, reading the newspapers and keeping 
his gloved hand out of sight, until it was time to go 
to bed. 


XVIII 


SPADEADAM WASTE 

A BOUT eleven o’clock next morning Foster 
** stopped at the top of a hill and sitting down on a 
broken wall lighted his pipe. In front, the undulating 
military road ran straight across the high tableland to 
the west. To the south, a deep hollow, the bottom of 
which he could not see, marked the course of the Tyne. 
Plumes of smoke rose out of the valley and trailed 
languidly across the sky, for the river flowed past 
well-cultivated fields, old-fashioned villages, and rows 
of sooty cottages that clustered round pithead towers. 
Human activity had set its stamp upon the sheltered 
dale, alike in scenes of quiet pastoral beauty and in¬ 
dustrial ugliness. 

It was different to the north, where the shaggy 
moors rolled back in bleak, dark ridges. There were 
no white farmsteads here; one looked across a lonely 
waste that had sheltered the wolf and the lurking Piet 
when the Romans manned the Wall, and long after¬ 
wards offered a refuge to outlaws and cattle thieves. 
Foster’s way led through this desolation, but his map 
indicated a road of a kind that ran north to the head 
of Liddel. He must decide whether he should take it 
or plunge into the wilds. 

Since Graham was in front of him, he had probably 
gone to Liddesdale, with the object of finding if Foster 

175 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


176 

was at the Garth. If he did not come back by the road 
he had taken, he would watch the railway that roughly 
followed it across the moors from Hexham, which 
seemed to close the latter to Foster and make it dan¬ 
gerous for him to go near the Garth at all. Neverthe¬ 
less he meant to see Alice before he looked for Daly, 
and he turned to Pete. 

“On the whole, I’d sooner keep off the road. Is 
there a way across the heath to the upper Liddel?” 

“I wouldna’ say there’s a way,” Pete answered with 
a dry smile. “But I can take ye ower the Spadeadam 
waste, if ye do not mind the soft flows and some verra 
rough traiveling. Then I’ll no’ promise that we’ll 
win farther than Bewcastle to-night, an’ if there’s 
much water in the burns, we’ll maybe no’ get there.” 

They struck across a rushy field, crept through a 
ragged hedge, and came out upon rough pasture that 
gradually merged into the heath. A green bank and a 
straggling line of stones, some fallen in large masses 
and some standing two or three feet high, presently 
stretched across their path, and Foster stopped for a 
few moments. The bank and moat-like hollow he 
looked down upon marked the vallum; the squared 
stones, to which the lime still clung, apparently un- 
detachable, the mums . He was looking at the great 
rampart a Roman emperor had built. He understood 
that it was higher and less damaged farther west and 
would have liked to follow it, but he had something 
else to think about than antiquities. 

The heath got rougher when they left the wall. 
Spongy moss grew among the ling that caught their 
feet, and the ground began to rise. Looking at the 
sun, Foster saw they were not taking as northerly a 


SPADEADAM WASTE 


177 


line as he had expected, but the back of a bold ridge 
rose between them and the west and he supposed 
Pete meant to follow its other side. They stopped to 
eat the food they had brought where a stream had 
worn away a hollow in a bank. The sun, striking 
the wall of peaty soil behind them, was pleasantly 
warm. It was a calm day, with slowly-drifting clouds, 
and gray shadows streaked the wide, brown waste. 

There was no house in sight and only in one place 
a few scattered dots that looked like sheep. Getting 
out his map, Foster noted that they were crossing 
the high neck where the Pennine range slopes down 
to meet the southern spurs of the Cheviots. He had 
seen nothing in Canada wilder or more desolate than 
this bleak tableland. 

In the afternoon they toiled up the rise he had 
noticed in the distance, winding in and out among 
soft places and hummocks of the peat, but when they 
came to the top there was not the dip to a valley he had 
expected. The ground was rougher than before, and 
the moor rolled on, rising and falling in heathy undula¬ 
tions. By degrees, however, it became obvious that 
they had crossed the water-shed and were descending, 
for streams that increased in size crossed their path. 
So far, none were deep, but the ravines they ran 
through began to seam the gradual slope and Foster 
understood Pete’s remark that something depended on 
there not being much water in the burns. 

Looking back after a time, he saw the crest of the 
moor run up behind them against the sky, and the 
next ravine they came to was awkward to climb down, 
while he was wet to the knees when he crossed the 
burn. A mile farther on, he reached another that was 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


178 

worse and they had to work back along the crumbling 
sides of its channel to find a place to cross. After this 
their progress was marked by erratic curves, and Fos¬ 
ter was soon splashed with black peat-mud and green 
slime. By and by they came to a broad level, shut 
in by a ridge on its other side, and picked their way 
carefully between clumps of rushes and curious round 
holes filled with dark-colored water. The ground was 
very soft and walking became a toil, but Pete held 
steadily to his winding course and Foster, although 
getting tired, did not lag behind. 

They were some time crossing the bog and when they 
reached the foot of the rise, which ran in a long line 
between them and the west, the light got dimmer 
suddenly. A yellow glow that seemed to come from 
low down flushed the sky, but the rough slope was 
dark and the hummocks and gullies on its side were 
losing their distinctness. Foster felt somewhat 
daunted by the prospect of pushing across the waste 
after darkness fell, and doggedly kept level with Pete 
as they went up the hill obliquely, struggling through 
tangled grass and wiry heath. When they reached 
the summit, he saw they were on the western edge of 
the tableland but some distance below its highest point. 
Though it was broken by rolling elevations, the ground 
ran gradually down to an extensive plain where white 
mist lay in the hollows. A belt of saffron light lingered 
on the horizon, with a half-moon in a streak of green 
above, and one or two twinkling points showed, faint 
and far off, in the valley. 

“Yon,” said Pete, “is Bewcastle dale, and I ken 
where we’ll find a welcome when we cross the water o’ 


SPADEADAM WASTE 


179 

Line. But Pm thinking we’ll keep the big flow in our 
left han\” 

Instead of descending towards the distant farm¬ 
steads, he followed the summit of the rise, and Foster, 
who understood that a flow is a soft bog, plodded after 
him without objecting. The heather was tangled and 
rough, and hid the stones he now and then stumbled 
against, but it was better to hurry than be left with a 
long distance to cover in the dark. Indeed, as he 
caught his feet in the wiry stems and fell into holes, 
he frankly admitted the absurdity of his adventure, 
a sense of which amused him now and then. He was 
in a highly civilized country, there were railways and 
telegraph lines not far off, and he was lurking like an 
ancient outlaw among the bogs! It looked as if 
there must be better ways of meeting his difficulties, 
but he could not see one. Anyhow, he had determined 
to save his partner, and now, if his plans were hazy 
and not very wise, it was too late to make a sweeping 
change. 

After a time Pete stopped abruptly, and then drop¬ 
ping into a clump of heather, pointed backwards down 
the long slope on their right hand. Foster’s sight was 
good, but he admitted that the poacher’s was better, 
because it was a minute or two before he saw any 
ground for alarm. Although there was some light in 
the sky, the rough descent was dark and it was only by 
degrees he distinguished something that moved across 
the heath, below and some distance away. Then he 
realized that it was a man, and another became faintly 
visible. They might be shepherds or sportsmen, but 
it was significant that there were two and they seemed 
to be ascending obliquely, as if to cut his line of march. 


180 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

He remembered that as he and Pete had kept the crest 
of the ridge their figures must have shown, small but 
sharp, against the fading light. 

“It’s suspicious, but I wouldn’t like to say they’re 
on our trail,” he remarked. 

“Ye’ll soon ken. Watch the bit scaur.” 

Foster saw a faint dark line down the hill, and sup¬ 
posed it was a gully, torn out of the peat. It ran 
nearly straight up, crossing the strangers’ indirect 
course to the summit, and would make a very rough 
means of ascent, but if they entered it the men would 
be out of sight. He blamed himself for not looking 
back before but had felt safe in the wilds, and even 
now it was hard to believe that the men were following 
him. Straining his eyes, he watched them move to¬ 
wards the gully, and set his lips when they disappeared. 
It was plain that they meant to get as close as possible 
before they were seen. 

He did not move for the next few moments, but his 
brain was busy. Graham might have come back down 
the north road in his car and afterwards taken to the 
moors, but it was difficult to understand how he had 
found Foster’s track. Chance, however, sometimes 
favored one in a curious way; the fellow might have 
found out that he had left the road and expected him 
to stop the night in Bewcastle dale. Since Foster had 
Pete with him, he was not, in one sense, afraid of 
Graham. Although the fellow was, no doubt, danger¬ 
ous, he was not likely to force an equal fight. The 
risk would come if Graham found him alone and at a 
disadvantage, when Foster thought it would go hard 
with him. This was why he could not have the men 
on his track, watching for the right moment to strike. 


SPADEADAM WASTE 


181 

It was, however, possible that the strangers were po¬ 
lice, and he lay in the heath with knitted brows until 
Pete touched him. 

“They wouldna’ find us easy if we keepit still, but 
I’m no’ for spending the night among the bents,” he 
said. “I’m thinking we’ll try the big flow and lose 
them in the mire.” 

He rose and crossing the summit started down the 
incline, while Foster followed as fast as he could. It 
would be some time before the others reached the spot 
they had left, but the light of the sinking moon touched 
the face of the hill and as long as they were moving 
their figures could be seen. When they reached the 
bottom Pete headed west, and presently stopped at 
the edge of a wide level space. Tufts of wild cotton 
gleamed lividly in the moonlight, and here and there a 
sparkle marked a pool, but, farther on, a trail of mist 
stretched across the bog. It did not look inviting, and 
when Pete stopped for a few moments Foster heard 
the water bubble through the wet moss in which his 
feet sank. 

“The black burn rins on the ither side, and there’s 
just one place where ye can cross,” Pete said thought¬ 
fully. “An old shieling stands on a bit dry knowe 
near the middle o’ the flow, and I wouldna’ say but we 
might spend the night there, if it was needful.” 

Foster left it to him, although he was not much 
attracted by the thought of spending the night in the 
bog, and Pete moved forward cautiously. He seemed 
to be following a track, because he went straight ahead, 
tramping through clumps of rushes, and splashing 
into pools. Foster noted that the latter were shallow, 
though he had fallen into bog-holes that were deep. 


182 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


They tried to move silently, but they made some noise, 
and he felt relieved when they plunged into a belt of 
mist that would hide them from their pursuers. By 
the look of the ground to left and right, he imagined 
that a stranger who lost the track would have serious 
trouble in regaining firm soil. 

When they came out of the mist, however, he began 
to find the silence daunting. On the hills one could 
hear the grouse and plover crying and the murmur of 
running water, but an oppressive quietness brooded 
over the flow. Nor could he see much except rushes, 
treacherous moss, and dully-glimmering pools. By 
arid by, however, a dark mass loomed through the haze 
and Pete stopped and looked back. 

For a moment or two Foster heard nothing, and 
then there was a splash and a noise, as if somebody 
was floundering through the rushes. The sounds were 
nearer than he had thought possible, and he glanced 
at his companion. 

“They’re no’ traiveling badly and they’ve keepit 
the track so far,” Pete remarked. “Maybe ye 
wouldn’a care to try their speed for the next two or 
three miles?” 

“Certainly not,” said Foster; “that is, if there’s 
another way.” 

“Weel,” said Pete, “they’re surely nearer than I 
thought, and might see where we crossed the burn. 
There’s nought for’t but the shieling on the knowe.” 

He went on, and the dark mass ahead grew into a 
rocky mound covered with small trees. They were 
birches, because Foster saw their drooping, lacelike 
twigs above the low mist; and the indistinct object 
among their stems was the shieling. It was obvious 


SPADEADAM WASTE 


183 

that the hut would catch the eyes of the men behind 
if they came close enough, and he stopped where the 
ground rose. 

“We’ll no’ gang in yet,” said Pete. 

They skirted the mound, which was larger than 
Foster thought and broken by out-cropping rock, and 
when a thick screen of the birches rose between them 
and the building, crept into a nook among the stones. 
Foster imagined that the others might search for half 
the night without finding them unless they were lucky. 
Then Pete remarked in a meaning tone: “There’s just 
the twa, and I hae a good stick.” 

Foster smiled. He was tired, wet, and savage, and 
would have liked to confront Graham and settle their 
differences by force; but the matter could not be 
treated in this primitive way. He could not shoot the 
men, and would be no better off if he overpowered and 
threw them in the bog. They would know where he 
was and would follow him as close as was safe, while 
he wanted to shake them off and make them uncertain 
whether they were on his track or not. Besides, his 
antagonists might avoid a conflict. 

“The thing’s too complicated to be straightened 
out by knocking somebody down,” he said. “But Pm 
glad Pm not here alone.” 

In the meantime, the others were getting nearer, 
for Foster heard them splash through the wet moss and 
stumble among the rushy grass. They were walking 
fast, which indicated that they thought themselves 
some distance behind the fugitives; but stopped when 
they saw the birches, and then came on again cau¬ 
tiously. Foster could not see them until their blurred 
figures appeared among the trees. So long as he 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


184 

kept still there was little chance of his being found. 

The moonlight filtered through the low mist that 
rose half-way up the thin birch trunks on the top of 
the mound, but the shieling stood on a lower level, and 
when they went towards it the men’s forms got very 
indistinct. They vanished, but he knew they had 
gone in when a pale stream of light flickered among the 
trees. 

“A polisman’s trick,” Pete said in a low voice. “A 
poacher would not ha’ let ye see the light.” 

Foster felt that he must find out who the men were. 
The thing was risky, but it was worth trying, and he 
crawled out from behind the stones. The rock was 
rough and wet; his hand plunged into some water and 
he scraped his knee, but he made a few yards and then 
stopped and lay flat as the light went out. It looked as 
if the others had heard him, and he lowered his head 
until his face was buried in withered fern. There was 
silence for a few moments, and then his nerves tingled 
as he heard steps; the men, he thought, were coming 
out to look for him. He did not move, however, and 
the footsteps got farther off. By and by there was a 
sharp rustle and he cautiously looked up. Two hazy 
figures showed among the trees, but it was plain that 
they were going away. 

It was impossible to follow them without being 
heard, and he waited until Pete joined him. So far 
as he could judge by the noise they made, the men 
were hurrying across the bog. 

'They’re awa’, but I wouldna’ say they’ll no’ come 
back,” Pete remarked. "If they dinna’ strike the 
right place, they’ll no’ find it easy to cross the burn. 
She rins in a deep cut an’ the bottom’s saft.” 


SPADEADAM WASTE 


185 

“What's likely to happen if they get off the track?” 

“Weel,” said Pete, with a chuckle, “it’s verra possi¬ 
ble they’ll stop in the flow till morning, maybe up to 
the knees in mire. I dinna’ think there's much reason 
they should get in deeper, but they might." 

* “But suppose they find the way and cross the 
burn?” 

“Then, if they ken the dale, I would expect them 
to haud a bit south for Shopford, where they would 
find an inn, or maybe west by the Clattering ford to 
Canonbie. If they dinna' ken, it’s likely they’ll hae to 
sleep behind a dyke. Noo, however, we’ll turn back 
and gang up the dale." 

They recrossed the bog and skirted the moor for 
some time, after which they went down a long slope 
and reached a level space of grass and heath. They 
followed it north until a light shone ahead and the 
barking of dogs indicated that they were approaching a 
farm. Pete went in first, and Foster did not know 
what explanation he gave, but the farmer told him to 
sit down when he entered the big, flagged kitchen. He 
was not surprised when a woman who came in looked 
at him curiously, because he was wet and splashed, 
and bits of fern and heather stuck to his clothes, but 
his hosts asked no questions and presently gave him 
supper. 

Soon afterwards he was shown a comfortable room 
and went to bed, leaving Pete with the others in the 
kitchen. Foster was glad to feel he could be trusted 
not to tell them too much, although he would, no 
doubt, have to satisfy their curiosity to some extent. 
A hint went a long way with the reserved Borderers. 


XIX 


Alice's confidence 

F OSTER got up late and after breakfast sat by the 
kitchen fire, studying his map. He imagined 
that his pursuers, believing him to be in front, had 
crossed the low ground towards the cultivated valley 
of the Esk, where they would not have trouble in 
finding shelter for the night. Then, if they thought 
he was making for the Garth, the railway would take 
them up Liddesdale. 

He meant to visit the Garth, although this might 
prove dangerous if Graham and his companion watched 
the neighborhood. So long as Pete was close at hand, 
the risk might not be great, but Pete could not be with 
him always and he thought Graham would stick at 
nothing to get his papers back. One of the gang had 
killed Fred Hulton, and Foster did not suppose the 
others would hesitate about getting rid of him, if it 
could be done without putting the police on their 
track. A shot or stab in the dark would effectually 
prevent his betraying them, and it might be made to 
look like an accident, or perhaps as if he had killed 
himself. Foster, as a rule, distrusted anything that 
looked abnormal or theatrical, but admitted that he 
might be in some danger. For all that, he was going. 
There was no need for an early start, because he did 
not want to arrive in daylight and the distance was not 
186 


ALICE’S CONFIDENCE 187 

great. Then he meant to avoid the high roads, and 
after a talk with Pete picked out his route across the 
hills. It was eleven o’clock when they set off, and 
they spent an hour sheltering behind a dyke while a 
snowstorm broke upon the moor. The snow was wet 
and did not lie, but the soaked grass and ling after¬ 
wards clung about their feet and made walking labori¬ 
ous. The sky was gray and lowering and there was a 
bitter wind, but they pushed on across the high moors, 
and when the light was going saw a gap in a long ridge 
in front. Foster thought this marked the way down 
to the Garth. 

It was nearly dark when they reached the gap, 
through which a brown stream flowed, and he could 
see nothing except dim hillsides and the black trough 
of the hollow. Pete said they must follow the water, 
and they stumbled downhill among the stones beside 
the burn. As they descended, a valley opened up and 
a rough track began near a sheep fold. Although it 
was dark, Foster saw that they were now crossing 1 
rushy pasture, and they had to stop every now and 
then to open a gate. The stream was swelling with 
tributaries from the hills and began to roar among the 
stones. Birches clustered in the hollows, the track 
became a road, and at length a group of lights twin¬ 
kled across a fir wood and he knew the Garth was not 
far ahead. 

Now he had got there, he almost wished he had kept 
away. He was not sure of his welcome and did not 
know what line to take if Featherstone showed his 
doubts. For one thing, he did not mean to talk about 
his adventures in Newcastle and on Spadeadam waste. 
The affair was too theatrical for the unimaginative 


i88 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


country gentleman to believe, and for that matter, 
when Foster went up the drive past the well-kept 
shrubberies and lawn he found it hard to realize that 
he had been hunted by determined men and was now 
perhaps in danger of his life. Featherstone, living 
in his quiet house, could not be expected to credit such 
a romantic tale. Graham’s letters would to some 
extent corroborate his statements, but not unless 
Featherstone accepted his surmises as correct; but 
Foster admitted that after all pride was his strongest 
motive for saying nothing. If Featherstone distrusted 
him, he must continue to do so until Foster’s efforts to 
help Lawrence were successful. 

He braced his courage when he rang the bell, but 
John, who let him in, did not seem to find anything 
remarkable in his choice of a companion. Pete looked 
very big and rather truculent in his rough, wet clothes, 
but he was not embarrassed. 

“This is a friend of mine,” said Foster. “I should 
be obliged if you will look after him.” 

John showed no surprise at his statement. “Very 
good, sir; I think I can promise that. Will you give 
me your coat, sir?” Then he beckoned Pete. “If 
you please, come with me.” 

He took Pete away and Foster wondered with some 
amusement what they thought of one another. A few 
moments afterwards Alice came in, dressed with a 
curious elegant plainness that he thought suited her. 
Alice needed no ornaments, and fripperies would have 
struck a jarring note. Foster sometimes called her 
stately, though he felt that this was not quite what he 
meant. She had a certain quiet grace, touched with 
pride, that he had never noticed about anybody else, 


ALICE’S CONFIDENCE 


189 

although he admitted that his knowledge of girls like 
Alice Featherstone was small. Now, however, she was 
not as calm as usual, for her eyes had a keen sparkle 
and her look was animated. He wondered whether he 
could believe this was because she was glad to see him. 

“You have not been long,” she said with a welcoming 1 
smile. “Have you succeeded?” 

“On the whole, I think so,” Foster answered mod¬ 
estly. 

“That’s splendid!” she exclaimed and he could not 
doubt the approval in her voice. It sounded as if she 
meant to applaud him as well as show her satisfaction 
with the consequences of his exploit. 

“Well, I haven’t got very far yet, although I im¬ 
agine I’m on the right line. But have you heard from 
Lawrence ?” 

“No,” she replied and her satisfaction vanished. 
Indeed, Foster was somewhat puzzled by the change. 
“I must confess that I’m getting anxious now.” 

Foster nodded. “Then I must go and look for him 
as soon as I’ve had a reckoning with Daly.” 

“Daly has been here-” she said and stopped as 

Mrs. Featherstone came in. 

The latter looked at Foster rather curiously, but 
gave him her hand and seemed to take it for granted 
that he meant to resume his stay. She said her hus¬ 
band had gone to dine with a neighbor and would not 
be back for an hour or two, and then let Foster go to 
his room. 

Dinner was served soon after he came down, but 
while they talked freely about matters of no importance 
Foster noted a subtle difference in Mrs. Featherstone’s 
manner. She was not less friendly than usual, but 



CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


190 

she asked no questions about his journey and avoided 
mentioning Lawrence. It looked as if she knew her 
husband’s doubts, but Foster somehow thought she 
did not altogether share them. In the meantime, he 
tried to act as if their relations were perfectly normal, 
but found it hard, and now and then glanced at the 
clock. It was a long way to the nearest inn and he 
wondered when Feather stone would return, because 
he could not accept the hospitality of a man who dis¬ 
trusted him. 

When dinner was over, he went with the others to 
the drawing-room and did his best to engage them in 
careless talk. Alice supported him when his efforts 
flagged, as they sometimes did, and once or twice gave 
him a half-amused, half-sympathetic glance. He did 
not know if he was grateful for this or not, but saw 
that she knew what he felt. If Mrs. Featherstone 
guessed, she made no sign; she treated him with the 
graciousness one would expect from a well-bred host¬ 
ess, but went no further. 

It was a relief when Featherstone came in. He 
made a little abrupt movement when he saw Foster, 
to whom he did not give his hand. The latter thought 
he looked disturbed. 

“I am sorry I was not at home when you arrived,” 
Featherstone said. "Still, I had no reason for thinking 
you would be here.” 

"In fact, you were rather surprised to see me,” 
Foster suggested. 

Featherstone looked at him as if he thought he had 
been blunter than was necessary, but replied: "Well, 
I suppose that’s true, but I have no doubt Mrs. Feather¬ 
stone has made up for my absence, and since you have 


ALICE’S CONFIDENCE 


191 

come, we would like to talk to you about Lawrence. 
I dare say you will give us a few minutes.” 

He opened the door as Mrs. Featherstone rose, and 
Foster went with them to the library, where Feather- 
stone sat down at a big table. It was here he wrote his 
business letters and occasionally attended to magis¬ 
terial duties, and Foster thought this was why he had 
chosen the place. It, no doubt, gave him a feeling 
of authority. Mrs. Featherstone sat by the fire, but 
Foster was surprised when Alice came in. Feather¬ 
stone glanced at her with a frown. 

“It might have been better if you had stayed down¬ 
stairs and left this matter to your mother and me,” he 
remarked and waited, as if he expected his wife to 
support him, but she did not. 

“No,” said Alice; “I am beginning to get anxious 
about Lawrence, and if Mr. Foster can tell us anything 
fresh, I ought to hear it. But I don’t think he can. I 
believe he told us all he knew before.” 

Featherstone looked disturbed by her boldness, but 
Foster felt a thrill. Alice was on his side and meant 
to show the others her confidence in his honesty. He 
wondered what Featherstone would do, and was not 
surprised when he made a gesture of resignation. Fos¬ 
ter knew his comrade well, and imagined that Feather¬ 
stone was very like Lawrence. The latter was physi¬ 
cally brave, but sometimes gave way to moral pres¬ 
sure and vacillated when he should be firm. Both 
showed a certain lack of rude stamina; they were, so 
to speak, too fine in the grain. Foster, however, had 
other things to think about, and indeed felt rather like 
a culprit brought before his judges. Then Mrs. Feath¬ 
erstone relieved the unpleasant tension. 


192 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“We have not heard from Lawrence yet and do not 
understand it. Can you do anything to set our fears 
at rest?” 

“I’m sorry I can’t,” said Foster, and seeing he must 
deal with the matter boldly, asked Featherstone: 
“Have you any ground for believing I have not been 
frank?” 

“It is an awkward question. You are our guest 
and my son sent you to us. I must add that we had 
begun to like you for your own sake; but I have 
grounds for supposing that you kept something back. 
To begin with, Daly, whom you told us you meant 
to mislead, was here again yesterday.” 

“Did you give way to his demands? It’s important 
that I should know.” 

Featherstone hesitated, and Foster saw where his 
suspicions led, but for the next moment or two was 
absorbed by speculations about Daly’s visit. Then 
Alice looked at her father with a smile. 

“You can tell Mr. Foster. It’s obvious that if he 
was in league with the fellow he would have no need 
to ask.” 

“I did not give way,” said Featherstone. “He 
must have seen that I was determined, because after 
the first I thought he did not press me very hard.” 

“Ah!” said Foster; “that was curious, but we’ll let 
it go in the meantime. I suppose there is something 
else?” 

“Since you left, the police have paid me another 
visit. They asked some rather strange questions, be¬ 
sides inquiring where you were.” 

“Which you couldn’t tell them!” 

“I didn’t know,” Featherstone rejoined pointedly, 


ALICE’S CONFIDENCE 


193 


and Foster saw that Alice had said nothing about his 
recent visit. She gave him an inquiring glance, as 
if she wondered why he did not state his reasons for 
going to Newcastle, but he looked as unobservant as 
he could. He could not signal her, because while this 
might escape his host’s notice he was afraid of Mrs. 
Featherstone. 

“Well,” he said, “it might be better if you, so to 
speak, formulated your suspicions and made a definite 
charge. After all, I’m entitled to hear it.” 

“I do so most unwillingly, but feel an explanation 
is needed. To begin with, we had one short letter 
from my son, stating that he could not come home but 
you would tell us how he was getting on. This was 
all; he said nothing about Daly, or his starting east 
with you. You arrived with his portmanteau and 
what I now think is a rather curious story. Then, 
after Daly wrote, you suggested an extraordinary plan, 
which, as the fellow came here, has not worked very 
well. Besides, the police have made inquiries about 
you and there’s something mysterious about your jour¬ 
neys. I do not think they were all intended to mislead 
Daly.” 

“All this is true,” Foster admitted. “But you 
haven’t stated the conclusions you draw from it.” 

“The conclusions are vague but disturbing. Law¬ 
rence trusted you and, you tell us, started with you 
for a place he did not intend to reach. Since then he 
has vanished. It is possible that you have deceived 
both him and us.” 

“That’s rather absurd,” Alice remarked. “I really 
don’t think Mr. Foster would make a very dangerous 
plotter, and you admitted that Lawrence trusted him.” 


194 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


“I did/’ Featherstone rejoined sharply, as if he 
resented the interruption. “Still I don’t see your argu¬ 
ment.’’ 

“She means that Lawrence is not a simpleton,” Mrs. 
Featherstone interposed. “For myself, I doubt if Mr. 
Foster could deceive him.” 

“We’ll go on,” Featherstone resumed, turning to 
Foster. “There was a very mysterious affair at Gard¬ 
ner’s Crossing shortly before you left and some valu¬ 
able bonds were missing.” 

Foster’s face got red, but he laughed. “This is too 
much, sir! If your suspicions went so far, why did 
you not tell the police?” 

“Ah!” said Featherstone with some awkwardness, 
“there you have me at a disadvantage! While Daly 
has the power to injure Lawrence, I must keep the 
police in the dark.” He paused and added: “I cannot 
say I believed you reckoned on this.” 

“Thank you,” said Foster, but Alice broke in: 

“Why don’t you tell my father why you went to 
Newcastle?” 

Featherstone gave her a surprised glance and then 
turned to Foster. “It looks as if my daughter were 
better informed than I. There is obviously some¬ 
thing I do not know about.” 

“There is; but I must ask Miss Featherstone to 
respect my confidence in the meantime,” Foster an¬ 
swered, and getting up, stood silent for a few mo¬ 
ments, resting his hand on his chair. 

He saw restrained curiosity in Mrs. Featherstone’s 
face and her husband’s anger, while he thought Alice 
knew how significant the line she had taken looked. 
She had boldly admitted that he knew her well enough 


ALICE’S CONFIDENCE 


195 

to trust her with his secrets, and declared herself on 
his side. In the meantime, he was conscious of a 
strain that he thought the others felt and was sorry 
for Featherstone. He could not resent the man’s 
anxiety about his son. For all that, he did not mean 
to tell him why he had gone to Newcastle. It would 
not make a plausible tale. 

“I must own that things look bad for me,” he said. 
“I can’t offer any explanation that would satisfy you 
and could not expect you to take my word that I mean 
well. All I can do is to frighten off Daly and then find 
Lawrence, and I’m going to try.” 

“It doesn’t matter much about Daly now. But if 
you can find Lawrence, you will clear yourself.” 

Alice turned to her father with an angry sparkle in 
her eyes. “That’s a very grudging concession for us 
to make. We will not blame Mr. Foster when he has 
proved that it’s impossible for him to be guilty!” 

The tension was too great for any of them to be 
much surprised by her outbreak and Featherstone said 
dully, “It’s logical.” 

“Logical!” Alice exclaimed in a scornful tone. “Do 
you expect Mr. Foster to be satisfied with that, after 
what he has borne and the risks he has run for us? 
Now, when things look bad for him, is the time for 
you to show your trust and knowledge of character.” 

“You imply that your judgment is better than 
mine?” Featherstone rejoined, but without heat. 

“I know an honest man,” Alice said quietly, with 
some color in her face. 

There was silence for a few moments and by an ef¬ 
fort of self-control Foster kept his face unmoved. 
He did not mean to let the others see the exultant 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


196 

satisfaction the girl’s statement had given him. Feath- 
erstone brooded with knitted brows and a troubled 
look. Then he said : 

“You will understand, Mr. Foster, that this has been 
a painful interview to my wife and me. You were 
our guest and my son’s friend; but I do not know what 
has happened and we have no news of him. If you 
can bring him back, I will ask your forgiveness for 
all that I have said.” 

“I will do my best and get to work to-morrow,” 
Foster answered. Then he bowed to Mrs. Feather- 
stone and Alice, and the girl gave him a look that 
made his heart beat as he went out of the room. 

Shortly afterwards he entered the hall, wearing 
his damp walking clothes, and met Mrs. Featherstone, 
who protested against his leaving them at night. 
Foster answered that he had no' time to lose and beck¬ 
oning Pete, who was waiting, went out. Alice had not 
come down to bid him good-by, but after all he had 
not expected this; the meeting would not have been 
free from embarrassment. He had much to say to her, 
but must wait until he had kept his promise. 

He did not blame Featherstone and rather sym¬ 
pathized with him, but could not stay at the Garth or 
come back there until he had cleared up the mystery 
about his comrade’s silence. Pete did not grumble 
much when they went down the drive, but said he had 
no friends in the neighborhood and it was a long way 
to the nearest inn. 


XX 


THE RIGHT TRACK 

T T was a clear night and although the moon was low 
-*■ its light touched the wet road as Foster walked 
down the dale. He had much to think about and 
tried to fix his mind on his main object. It would have 
been delightful to dwell upon Alice’s interposition 
on his behalf, but he must not attach too much impor¬ 
tance to this yet; after all she might have been actuated 
mainly by a love of justice. Besides, the sooner he 
kept his promise, the sooner he would be able to ask 
her what she had meant. 

He must find Daly and thought it significant that 
the fellow’s attempt at extortion had not been very 
determined. If Featherstone was right about this, it 
indicated that Daly suspected that Lawrence was be¬ 
yond his reach and had not been at the Garth. It 
was possible that he had found out how he had been 
misled and meant to look for his victim in Canada. 
Foster wondered whether he would go without his 
money, or if he had received a share of the plunder 
before, since the circular check was not for a large 
sum. In any case, it was lucky that Daly had visited 
the Garth when he did, because if he had waited an¬ 
other day, he might have met Graham, which would 
have been awkward. 

After some thought, Foster decided to act on the 
197 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


198 

supposition that Daly would return to Canada. Then, 
dismissing the matter for the time, he speculated about 
the possibility of Graham’s lurking in the neighbor¬ 
hood and began to look ahead. A stone dyke, broken 
in places, ran between the winding road and the 
stream it followed; on the other side, which lay in 
shadow, thin birches straggled up a steep hill. The 
moon was low and would soon sink behind the trees, 
when it would be very dark. When he looked back he 
could not see the lights of the Garth. He was on the 
road to the station, and remembered that there was a 
train from the south in the evening. 

Taking out his watch, he calculated that anybody 
who left the station on foot when the train arrived 
might be expected to reach the Garth in the next 
quarter of an hour. This was disturbing, but he saw 
nothing to cause him alarm as he went on. Now and 
then a rabbit, startled by his footsteps, ran across the 
road, and once or twice an owl hooted as it fluttered 
overhead. The river splashed among the stones and 
sometimes the shadows moved as a puff of wind came 
up the valley; but that was all. Still Foster quickened 
his pace; it was some distance to the village where 
he knew of an inn, and he wanted to get there before 
the people went to bed. He would not admit that he 
shrank from being left in the dark when the moon 
sank. 

By and by Pete stopped to relight his pipe and ut¬ 
tered an exclamation when he put his hand in his 
pocket. 

“I hae lost the guid pooch ye gave me at Hexham,” 
he said. “I mind I filled my pipe by the big thorn 


THE RIGHT TRACK 


199 

where the wire fence stops, and the moon’s on the road. 
If ye’ll bide or gang on slowly, I’ll rin back.” 

“Never mind it. I’ll give you another.” 

“Na,” said Pete. “If ye had been used with an 
auld tin and had a smairt pooch for the first time, ye 
wouldna’ lea’ it in the road. Besides, it was fu’ o’ a 
better tobacco than I often smoke.” 

Foster would sooner have kept him, but was un¬ 
willing to admit that he did not like to be alone. It 
was not very far to the thorn tree and Pete would 
soon overtake him. He went on, but did not loiter, 
and noted how his footsteps echoed along the edge of 
a wood ahead. In fact, the noise he made rather 
jarred his nerves, but the grass by the roadside was 
hummocky and wet. The road was dark beside the 
wood, for the moon was near the tops of the black firs, 
but there were gaps through which the silver light 
shone down. 

As he passed the first of the trees he heard a rattle 
of wings and stopped abruptly. Wood-pigeons were 
fluttering among the branches, and if he had not dis¬ 
turbed them, there was somebody in the wood. After 
a few moments, the sound died away, but he stood 
listening. He could not hear Pete coming, and was 
sorry he had let him go; the road looked lonely, and 
he knew there was no house for some distance. Still, 
if he had not frightened the pigeons, it might be unsafe 
to stay where he was, and he did not mean to turn 
back. It was better to be cautious, but he must not 
give his imagination rein. 

Bracing his courage, he went on, a little faster than 
before but without hurrying, and for two or three 
minutes heard no fresh noise. The wood ran along 


200 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


the road for perhaps a quarter of a mile and he was 
near the middle of it when there was a sharp report 
and something flicked against the wall behind him. He 
sprang aside instinctively, and then running forward 
smashed through the rotten fence and plunged into the 
wood. The nervous shrinking he had felt had gone. 
Now he was confronted with a danger that was not 
imaginary, he was conscious of savage anger and a 
fierce desire to come to grips with his treacherous an¬ 
tagonist. His fury was greater because of his pre¬ 
vious fear. 

I The wood was dark and thick. Branches brushed 
against him and hindered his progress, crawling bram¬ 
bles caught his feet. He could hear nothing except 
the noise he made, and as the fit of rage passed away 
his caution returned. He was putting himself at a 
disadvantage, because his lurking enemy could hear 
him and would no doubt try another shot if he came 
near enough. Stopping behind a fir trunk, with his 
finger on the trigger of the Browning pistol, he lis¬ 
tened. At first no sound came out of the dark, but he 
presently heard a rustle some distance off. There was 
another man in the wood beside the fellow who had 
fired at him, but so long as he kept still and the others 
did not know where he was, he had an advantage over 
them. They might expose themselves, and he was a 
good shot. 

He would have liked to wait, but reflected that if 
he killed or disabled somebody, he would have to jus¬ 
tify his action, and he had compromising papers in 
his pocket. He did not want to destroy the checks 
or tell his story to the police yet. Then he noticed 
that the rustling was getting farther away, as if the 


THE RIGHT TRACK 


201 


man was pushing through the wood towards the moor 
behind it, and he turned back half-reluctantly to the 
road. After getting over the fence, he kept on the wet 
grass, and had nearly reached the end of the wood 
when he heard somebody running behind him. The 
moon was now behind the firs and their dark shadow 
stretched from fence to wall. It looked as if Pete 
had heard the shot and was coming to his help, but 
Foster kept on until he was nearly out of the wood, 
and then stopped, standing against the fence, a yard 
or two back from where the moonlight fell upon the 
road. There was no use in running an unnecessary 
risk. 

The steps got nearer; he heard somebody breathing 
hard, and a figure appeared in the gloom. Then Foster 
thrust the pistol into his pocket, for the man who came 
into the moonlight was Gordon, whom he had met at 
the Edinburgh hotel. 

“Mr. Foster!” he exclaimed breathlessly, but Foster 
thought he was not surprised, and sitting on the fence 
took out a cigarette as calmly as he could. He had 
Graham’s checks and must be careful. 

“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you.” 

“I imagine it’s lucky that you knew me,” Gordon 
remarked, rather dryly. “Well, perhaps we ought to 
have stopped you at the other end of the wood.” 

“You were watching it then?” 

“Both ends. It’s obvious now that we should have 
watched the middle.” 

“Ah,” said Foster thoughtfully; “then you knew 
somebody was hiding among the trees?” 

“We thought it very possible.” 


202 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“Well, you know I was shot at, but I imagine the 
fellow got away. Do you mean to let him go ?” 

Gordon laughed. “My friends tell me I’m getting 
fat, and I’m certainly not so vigorous as I was. Be¬ 
sides, it’s not my part of the business to chase a sus¬ 
pected person across the hills, and I have men able 
to do it better than I can. But you stopped as you 
entered the wood. Did you expect to be shot at?” 

“I thought it very possible,” Foster answered dryly. 

“A fair retort! You were shot at. Were you nearly 
hit?” 

“I believe the fellow would have got me if he’d used 
a gun instead of a pistol; but the former would, of 
course, have been a conspicuous thing to carry about.” 

“That’s true,” Gordon agreed. “But, after escap¬ 
ing, why did you stop here and run the risk again?” 

Foster pondered. There was no sign of Pete, but 
he thought the latter could be trusted to elude the 
police, and did not want to let Gordon know he had 
felt it necessary to provide himself with a bodyguard. 
Something of this kind would be obvious if he stated 
that he was waiting for a companion. 

“Well,” he said, “it’s annoying to be shot at, and 
when I heard somebody running I thought I might 
catch the fellow off his guard. You see, I had already 
gone into the wood to look for him.” 

“But you must have known that it would have 
been very rash for the man who fired the shot to run 
noisily down the middle of the road.” 

“I suppose I was rather excited and didn’t remember 
that,” Foster replied. 

Gordon said nothing for a few moments and Foster 
saw that he had been fencing with him. He had 


THE RIGHT TRACK 


203 


admitted that he had partly expected to be attacked, 
and the other knew of the danger to which he had been 
exposed. This was puzzling; but it was lucky the 
man had not asked his reasons for fearing an attack. 
Foster believed he had not omitted to do so from 
carelessness. 

Then Gordon said, “I must try to find out what my 
men are doing. Where are you going to stop to¬ 
night?” 

Foster told him and he nodded. “I know the inn 
and will call there as soon as I can. Leave your ad¬ 
dress if you go before I come.” 

He went away up the road and Foster, setting off 
again, had gone about a mile when he heard steps 
behind him. Soon after he stopped Pete came up. 

“Ye’re no’ hurt?” he asked. 

Foster said he was uninjured, and when he asked 
where Pete had been the latter grinned. 

“Up the hill and sitting in a wet peat-hag. There 
was a polisman who ran better than I thought an’ it 
wasn’a a’thegither easy getting clear o’ him.” 

“But why did the policeman run after you?” 

“Yon’s a thing I dinna’ exactly ken, but when I 
was coming doon the road I heard a shot and saw ye 
break intil the wood. Weel, I thought the back o’ it 
was the place for me, and I was follying the dyke, quiet 
and saircumspect, when a man jumped ower and took 
the heather. He had a stairt, but the brae was steep, 
and I was thinking it would no’ be long before I had 
a grup o’ him when the polis cam’ ower the dyke be¬ 
hind. Then I thought it might be better if I didna’ 
interfere, and made for a bit glen that rins doon the 


204 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


fell. When I saw my chance I slippit oot and found 
the peat-hag.” 

Foster knitted his brows. It looked as if Pete had 
drawn the police off his antagonist’s track, which was 
unfortunate; but Gordon had evidently been watching 
the fellow, who would now have enough to do to make 
his escape. How Gordon came to be watching him 
required some thought, but Foster need not puzzle 
about this in the meantime. That Graham or his 
accomplice had thought it worth while to risk shooting 
him in order to recover the checks showed Foster that 
he was on the right track. Their importance did not 
depend on their money value; Graham meant to get 
them back because they were evidence of a crime. It 
was satisfactory to think there was not much proba¬ 
bility of the fellow’s meeting Daly, who would have 
an additional reason for leaving the country if he 
heard what had happened. 

After walking some distance, he came to a strag¬ 
gling village, and although he had to knock for a 
few minutes was admitted to the inn. Somewhat to 
his surprise, Gordon did not follow him, and finding 
that there was a train to Carlisle next morning, he 
gave the name of a hotel there and went to the sta¬ 
tion. He had done what Gordon told him, but did 
not mean to stop at the hotel long. 

As the train ran down Liddesdale he sat in a corner, 
thinking. The fast Canadian Northern boats sailed 
from Bristol, and Daly might choose that port if he 
were suspicious and meant to steal away; but Liver¬ 
pool was nearer and there were more steamers to 
Montreal. Foster thought he could leave this matter 
until he reached Carlisle and got a newspaper that gave 


THE RIGHT TRACK 


205 

the steamship sailings. In the meantime he must de¬ 
cide what to do with Pete, and admitted that he would 
be sorry to part with the man, although he would not 
be of much help in the towns, and their companion¬ 
ship might make him conspicuous. 

“I almost think I had better let you go at Carlisle,” 
he said. 

Pete looked rather hard at him, and then asked: 
“Have I earned my money?” 

“Yes,” said Foster, “you have earned it well.” 

“Then, if ye have nae great objection, I’d like to 
take pairt in the shape o’ a third-class passage to West¬ 
ern Canada, where ye come from. I hear it’s a gran’ 
country.” 

“It’s a hard country,” Foster answered. “You had 
better not be rash. There’s not much poaching yon¬ 
der ; the game, for the most part, belongs to the State, 
and the laws about it are very strict.” 

“There’s no’ that much profit in poaching here; 
particular when ye pay a smart fine noo and then. 
For a’ that, I wouldna’ say but it’s better than mony 
anither job, if ye’re lucky.” 

“You ought to make a good hill shepherd.” 

“Verra true, an’ I might make a good plooman, 
and get eighteen shillings or a pound a week for either. 
But what’s yon for a man’s work frae break o’ day 
till dark? An’, mind ye, it’s work that needs skill.” 

“Not very much,” Foster agreed. 

“Weel,” said Pete, rather diffidently, “I thought ye 
might have some use for me, if ye’ve no’ finished the 
business ye are on.” 

Foster doubted if Pete could help him much in 
Canada, since he did not expect to chase Daly through 


2o6 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


the woods. The man, however, had been useful and 
might be so again; then he had talents which, if rightly 
applied, would earn him much more in Canada than 
five dollars a week. 

“If you mean to come, I’ll take you,” he said. “If 
I don’t want you myself, I think I can promise to give 
you a good start.” 

Pete gave him a grateful glance, and Foster was 
silent while the train ran down the valley of the Esk. 
On reaching Carlisle, he went to the hotel he had 
named and asked for a room, but did not sign the 
visitors’ book. He spent the afternoon watching the 
station, and then went to the Eden bridge, where the 
road to Scotland crossed the river. Daly had a car and 
might prefer to use it instead of the rather infrequent 
trains. 

Foster did not know where the fellow was, but he 
had been at the Garth two days ago, and, if Feather- 
stone’s firmness had given him a hint, might before 
leaving the country revisit Peebles and Hawick, where 
Foster had left him the first clew. Daly was not the 
man to act on a hasty conclusion without trying to 
verify it, and Lawrence’s suit-case was still at Peebles. 
It was possible that he had already gone south, but 
there was a chance that he had not passed through 
Carlisle yet and Foster durst not neglect it. 

Dusk was falling when he loitered about the hand¬ 
some bridge. Lights began to twinkle in the gray bulk 
of the castle across the park, and along the Stanwix 
ridge, which rose above the waterside to the north. 
The gleam faded off the river, but it was not quite 
dark and there was not much traffic. Daly did not 
come and Foster, who was getting cold, had begun to 


THE RIGHT TRACK 


207 


wonder how long he should wait when a bright light 
flashed out at the top of the hill across the bridge. 

A car was coming down the hill and Foster stopped 
behind a tramway cable-post and took out his pipe 
as if he meant to strike a match. Just then a tram-car 
rolled across the bridge and the motor swerved to¬ 
wards the spot where he stood. It passed close enough 
for him to have touched it, and he saw Daly sitting 
beside the driver, and two ladies behind. He could 
not distinguish their faces, for the car sped across the 
bridge and a few moments later its tail light vanished 
among the houses that ran down to the river. 

Foster set off after it as fast as he could walk. Daly 
would not go to the station, because there was no train 
south for some time, and the two hotels where motor¬ 
ists generally stayed were not far off. Still he might 
drive through the town, making for Kendal or Lan¬ 
caster, in which case Foster would lose him. The car 
was not in the first garage, and he hurried to the 
other, attached to his hotel. He found the car, 
splashed with mud which the driver, whom he had 
seen at Hawick, was washing off. 

“I want some petrol, and you had better leave me a 
clear road to the door,” the man said to a garage hand. 
“I expect we’ll be out first in the morning, because we 
mean to start as soon as it’s light.” 

Foster had heard enough, and quickly went away. 
Daly meant to stop the night, and he must decide what 
to say to him. He was moreover curious about his 
companions. 


xxr 


DALY TAKES ALARM 

W HEN he returned to the hotel Foster signed 
the visitors’ book, which he examined. Daly’s 
name was not there, but the last entry recorded the 
arrival of Mr. Forbes and two ladies from Edinburgh, 
and Foster did not doubt that this was the party he 
had seen. He next went to the smoking-room and 
choosing a quiet corner, lighted a cigarette. Daly 
would probably see his name in the book, but this did 
not matter, because he meant to seek an interview with 
the man. Foster did not think he had met Graham, 
which gave him the advantage of being able to make 
a surprise attack, since Daly would not know about 
the documents he carried. 

By and by, however, he began to see the matter in a 
different light. Taking it for granted that Daly meant 
to leave England, it might be better to let him go. 
Even if he had not killed Fred Hulton, he had obvi¬ 
ously had something to do with the theft of the bonds, 
and would be more afraid of detection in Canada, 
which would make him easier to deal with. Besides, 
his knowledge of Lawrence Featherstone’s offense 
would be of less use to him there. If Foster could 
keep him in sight and sail by the same vessel, he would 
be able to have the reckoning when he liked after the 
ship left port. 


20 8 


DALY TAKES ALARM 


209 


On the whole, he thought this the better plan, but 
resolved to leave the thing to chance. If Daly met 
him or saw his name in the book, he would deal with 
the fellow then; if not, he would wait until they were 
on board ship. When he went in to dinner he chose 
a place behind a pillar, where he was not likely to be 
noticed, and looked carefully about. The room was 
large and occupied by a number of guests, but by and 
by he saw Daly at a table near its other end. As he 
had taken a prominent place, it looked as if he was 
not afraid of being seen. He sat facing Foster, but 
at some distance, with two ladies on the opposite side. 
They were fashionably dressed and one was older than 
the other, but that was all Foster could distinguish. 

He had no ground for thinking Daly noticed him 
during the meal, and did not see the man for an hour 
afterwards. Then finding that he wanted a railway 
guide he had left in his room, he went up the stairs 
and along a corridor. As he did so, he saw a man and 
woman some distance in front. The carpet was thick, 
and it was obvious that the others did not hear him, 
because the man put his arm round his companion’s 
waist. So far as Foster could see, the girl yielded 
willingly to his embrace, and not wishing to overtake 
them he stopped. Next moment they passed a lamp 
and he noted that the man was Daly, though he was 
unable to distinguish his companion’s face. He, how¬ 
ever, thought he would know her dress again. 

Daly’s love affairs had nothing to do with him, but 
in order to save the girl embarrassment he waited 
until they opened a door. Foster imagined it led to a 
music or drawing-room, but passed without looking in, 
and going up a flight of stairs spent some time in his 


210 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

room, studying the railway guide and a list of steam¬ 
ship sailings. As he entered the corridor on his way 
back he saw the girl, who was now alone, in front. 
He knew her by her dress and did not mean to over¬ 
take her, but after she had gone a few paces she 
stopped to pick up something she had dropped. Since 
it would look rather marked if he waited, he went on 
and was close to her when she heard his steps and 
glanced round with a start. Then he stopped as he 
saw she was the girl he had first met at Hawick. 
Although he thought she was embarrassed, she met 
him with a smile. 

“It looks as if you had got tired of Edinburgh,” 
she remarked. “Did you stay there long?” 

“No,” said Foster bluntly. “But I wonder whether 
you did not know that I had left?” 

“How could I know?” she asked with a look of sur¬ 
prise that he thought was well done. “Besides, why 
should I be interested?” 

“You seemed to think it better that I should go 
away. Anyhow, you gave me a useful hint, which 
perhaps warrants my doing as much for you.” 

She hesitated, glancing at an open door close by, and 
then moved towards it as if she expected him to follow 
her. Foster did so and found himself in a small 
drawing-room, where she sat down on a sofa and 
waited for him to speak. Instead he stood opposite, 
pondering. The girl was pretty and fashionably 
dressed, but he had ground for thinking some of her 
friends or relatives were dangerous criminals. It did 
not, however, follow that she took part in their plots, 
and although she obviously knew something about 
what was going on, he did not believe she knew it was 


DALY TAKES ALARM 


211 


connected with the tragedy at Gardners Crossing. He 
admitted that he was perhaps giving way to romantic 
sentiment, but he was sorry for the girl and thought 
her Daly’s victim. The fellow was handsome and 
must have charm, since he had been able to influence 
Carmen, who was strong-willed and clever. 

“Well?” she said presently. 

“I saw your name in the book, Miss Huntley, and 
know whom you*came with. I think you ought to go 
back to Edinburgh at once and must urge you strongly 
not to go to Canada.” 

It was plain that she understood him, for the blood 
rushed into her face and he saw that she felt some 
confusion. This seemed to indicate that she was not a 
hardened adventuress. 

“To begin with, I am not going to Canada—I did 
not mean to go,” she said, and her eyes sparkled as 
she added: “But you are guilty of intolerable rude¬ 
ness. Why do you presume to interfere?” 

“I suppose I am rude; I’m certainly unconventional. 
But you gave me some advice in Edinburgh and I 
was grateful, because I saw you meant well. Can’t 
you believe that I mean well, too?” 

She gave him a quick, half-puzzled, half-nervous 
glance, but did not answer, and he resumed: “Any¬ 
how, you would run a greater risk in Canada than I 
did in Edinburgh, and you were rash in coming to 
Carlisle.” 

“But I’m not going to Canada!” she broke out. 
“Don’t you believe me?” 

“I suppose I must,” said Foster. “But I think you 
ought to go home.” 

She laughed, a rather strained laugh. “You are 


212 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


conventional enough to think I would be safe there. 
How do you know what kind of a home I have ?” 

“I know nothing about it,” Foster admitted. “I 
find you here with a dangerous companion and dare 
say I haven’t taken a very tactful line in trying to warn 
you. That’s all.” 

There was silence for the next few moments and he 
felt sympathetic as he watched her disturbed face. Her 
anger had vanished and he thought she was grappling 
with doubt and alarm. In the meantime, he was 
not free from embarrassment. It was an awkward 
business, and he had not managed it very well. Then 
she got up and stood looking at him calmly. 

“You have gone too far, in one sense, but not far 
enough in another. You must be plainer if you want 
to justify your conduct.” 

“I see that, but am afraid you’ll have to take my 
honesty for granted, because I can’t tell you anything 
more, except that the man you came with is not to be 
trusted and may involve you in the difficulties that 
threaten him. You must think of me as a stranger 
to whom you tried to do a good turn and who has 
showed his gratitude in a clumsy way.” 

“Then there’s nothing more to be said; but I sup¬ 
pose I must admit that you meant well,” she an¬ 
swered, and giving him a level glance moved to the 
door. 

Foster held it open and after she had gone went 
down to the smoking-room. Perhaps he had been 
rash, but this did not matter. On the whole, he did 
not think the girl would tell Daly about his warning, 
and if she did, he probably knew already that Foster 
was at the hotel. In fact, it was rather significant that 


DALY TAKES ALARM 


213 


they had not met. Still, as she was not going to 
Canada, he had not gained much, except perhaps by 
exciting her suspicions and so preventing Daly’s mak¬ 
ing some use of her in his plots. This, however, was 
not Foster’s object, although he imagined Daly had 
some practical reason for his philandering. It was 
for the girl’s sake he had interfered and her attitude 
puzzled him. 

She could not have been altogether unsuspecting, 
or she would have bitterly resented his attack upon her 
lover, but her blush and confusion showed she had 
scruples and was rather the prey of a foolish infatua¬ 
tion than an accomplice. She knew something, but he 
felt sure she did not know in what a serious crime her 
lover was implicated. Foster, however, would not 
dwell on this. He hoped she would return to Edin¬ 
burgh, but if she did not, he had done his best. He 
must be ready to follow Daly in the morning, and 
going to another garage hired a car and then warned 
Pete, whom he had sent to a different hotel. A fast 
car would reach Liverpool in five or six hours. 

There was only one thing that disturbed him; he 
had not heard from the police, but it would be dan¬ 
gerous to disobey an order by telegram, while if Gor¬ 
don arrived before Daly left, awkward complications 
might arise. Foster, however, could do nothing to 
prevent this and presently went to bed. 

Getting up in the dark next morning, he went to the 
garage. The air was very raw and a fog hung over 
the town, but one or two electric lights burned in the 
gloomy shed, where an attendant was doing some¬ 
thing. Daly’s car stood where Foster had last seen 
it, but the cover was off the engine and some tools 


214 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


and small springs lay about. As there was no sign 
of the driver, it did not look as if Daly meant to 
start soon. 

“You open early,” he said to the attendant. “No¬ 
body seems to be going away just yet.” 

“I’m here earlier than I need have been,” the man 
grumbled. “By the way the fellow who brought me 
has left his car, he won’t be ready for another hour.” 

Foster, who had learned what he wanted to know, 
returned to the hotel and his breakfast was served in 
a corner of the big dining-room. He imagined that 
Daly had seen it was a bad morning and had not got 
up as soon as he meant. The dining-room was cold 
and only lighted near Foster’s table, which did not 
look as if anybody else was expected. 

“I dare say you’d sooner have people who get up 
later,” he remarked to the waiter who brought him 
another dish. 

“We serve breakfast when it’s wanted, sir, if you 
order it beforehand.” 

“I seem to be the only person who has done so this 
morning.” 

“So far as I know, sir,” the waiter replied. “But 
there’s another man on early duty.” 

Foster thought the other waiter would have turned 
on more lights if he expected a customer, and as there 
was no need for hurry ate a good meal. Day was 
breaking when he finished and word was brought him 
that his car was ready. Going to the office, he paid 
his bill and asked if a letter or telegram had arrived. 
There was nothing for him and he went to a window 
that commanded a view of the street. His car stood 
close by with Pete inside, but it was some time before 


DALY TAKES ALARM 


215 

Daly’s came out of the garage. Knowing that he 
could reach the door in a few moments, Foster waited, 
until the two ladies who had arrived with Daly went 
down the steps alone. He could not understand this, 
but a waiter came up and said that Miss Huntley 
would like to see him. When Foster reached the pave¬ 
ment the girl had got into the car. 

“I thought you would be glad to know I am going 
home,” she said. 

“Are you going in this car?” Foster asked sharply. 

“As far as Hawick,” she answered with a twinkle of 
amusement. “As I am doing what you urged, I don’t 
see why you should be surprised.” 

“No,” said Foster, “of course not! Well, I really 
think it was a useful hint.” 

“Perhaps so. Thank you, and good-by,” she said 
smiling, and signed to the driver. 

The car rolled away and Foster, watching it speed 
up the street, wondered where Daly was, and why 
the girl had sent for him. It was possible that she had 
meant to retire, so to speak, with colors flying and not 
to steal away, but he did not understand her amuse¬ 
ment, and feared a Parthian shot. He must find out 
why Daly did not want the car. 

Going back to the office, he asked the clerk: “Can 
you tell me when Mr. Forbes will be down for break¬ 
fast?” 

“He left last night. The porter took his luggage 
to the twelve o’clock train.” 

Foster savagely clenched his fist. He had been 
cheated; the girl had warned Daly, who had suspected 
some danger. Still, Foster did not think she had told 
him all and she had taken his advice; but this did not 


2 l6 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


matter. Daly had gone and he must get upon his 
track as soon as possible. Running down the steps, he 
jumped into the car and told the man to drive to the 
station. 

The twelve o’clock train went to London, but there 
was a connection by which one could reach Liverpool 
at about four in the morning. It was now eight 
o’clock, and Foster walked up and down the plat¬ 
form, growling at his folly, for a minute or two. Then 
he ascertained that there was another train for Liver¬ 
pool in half an hour which would arrive at noon, and 
sending the car away, waited about the office until he 
could get tickets. After all, he might find Daly before 
the steamer sailed. 


XXII 


CARMEN GETS A SHOCK 

N his way to Liverpool, Foster tried to review the 
situation calmly. His anger was vanishing, but 
he still felt sore and annoyed with himself. He had 
weakly yielded to sentimental pity for an attractive 
girl and had paid for it, because she had, no doubt, 
warned Daly, who knew from Foster’s boldness that 
he had learned enough to make him dangerous. The 
latter grimly resolved that he would not let any Quix¬ 
otic folly spoil his plans again. He had been cleverly 
tricked, but was not beaten yet, because a study of the 
steamship advertisements led him to believe that Daly 
could not leave Liverpool until the afternoon. More¬ 
over, the fellow was obviously afraid of him. 

Arriving shortly after twelve o’clock, he drove to 
the Canadian Pacific office and asked a clerk for a list 
of the passengers by a steamer announced to sail that 
day. He was given a list and saw that Mr. Andrew 
Forbes had taken a saloon berth. This indicated that 
Daly had booked his passage beforehand. 

“I see my friend’s on board,” Foster remarked. 
“Have you got a first and a second-class berth left?” 

“We had,” the clerk said, smiling. “Unfortunately, 
the boat has gone.” 

“Gone!” exclaimed Foster, who got a shock. 
“Don’t your steamers sail in the afternoon?” 

217 


2 l8 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“As a rule,” the clerk agreed. “However, this is 
an extra sailing, and we sent her off earlier to pick up 
passengers at Belfast Lough.” 

Foster said nothing, but left, the office with a de¬ 
termined look. A swift Canadian Northern liner sailed 
from Bristol two days later and ought to reach Quebec 
soon after the other boat. He thought of telegraphing 
to secure a berth, but decided not to do so. He had 
given Gordon his Carlisle address, which was all that 
he had promised, and although he had heard nothing 
from him, the police might make inquiries at the 
steamship offices. On the whole, it seemed safer to 
leave Liverpool and he took the first train to Bristol, 
but got out at Hereford, which was about half-way. 
It would be awkward if the police interfered with him 
now. 

Reaching Bristol shortly before the steamer sailed, 
he had no trouble in taking a passage for himself and 
Pete, and arrived at Quebec about twelve hours after 
the Canadian Pacific boat. Daly had got a start, and 
although Foster did not mean to give up the chase, he 
felt depressed as the train sped through the forests of 
Ontario. It was not long since he had come that way 
in high spirits, looking forward with pleasure to a 
holiday. Now he looked back, with a feeling of un¬ 
reality, on his wanderings among the Scottish bogs. 
All he had done seemed ridiculous and fantastic. No¬ 
body was the better for it, while he had involved him¬ 
self in a horrible tangle. The police were probably 
on his track and Featherstone suspected him; he had 
acted like a romantic boy and not a sober man. There 
was, however, one bright gleam; Alice trusted him, 
and he must show that he deserved her confidence. 


CARMEN GETS A SHOCK 


219 


Arriving at Gardner’s Crossing in the evening, he 
sent Pete to the hotel and went to Austin’s house. He 
must see Carmen and resolved that she should find 
him proof against her wiles; he was not going to be a 
sentimental fool again. In a general way, Carmen 
was, of course, too clever for him, but he had now 
certain advantages which he meant to use. 

He was shown into her drawing-room, where he was 
left for some time, and imagined with rather grim 
amusement that she was making preparations to 
receive him. Carmen knew the power of her beauty, 
which, however, owed much to her tasteful dress. In 
the meantime, he looked about the room. It was 
pretty with a certain exotic touch that the girl knew 
how to give. The color-plan of carpets, rugs, and 
curtains, although rather vivid, was good; the furni¬ 
ture pleased the eye. Foster had once thought it 
charmingly artistic, but knew better now. Alice 
Featherstone had taught him the difference between 
prettiness and dignified beauty. He felt that differ¬ 
ence plainly when Carmen came in, dressed like the 
fashionable women he had seen in Edinburgh. 

"You have come back soon, but it’s nice to see you,” 
she said with a smile. "The Crossing was duller than 
usual after you had gone.” 

"Thank you! I came back sooner than I expected,” 
Foster replied, rather dryly. 

Carmen gave him a quick look, but sat down with 
languid grace in an easy chair. 

"Well, I’ve no doubt you have much to tell me 
about your trip, and if you’ll talk about Edinburgh 
and London, I won’t let anybody in.” 


220 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

“Aren’t you anxious to know if I delivered the 
packet?” 

“The packet? I had forgotten it,” Carmen said 
carelessly. “Still, I did think you might have written 
to let me know you took it safe. But I dare say you 
had many interesting things to do.” 

“As it happened, I had,” Foster replied with a touch 
of grimness. “For all that, I delivered the packet and 
got an answer.” 

Carmen regarded him with surprise, as if she 
thought he had not played up. “You can give me the 
answer afterwards. Tell me about Featherstone’s 
place and his people. I’m curious about them; particu¬ 
larly his sisters. I suppose he has some?” 

Foster thought he understood. Carmen was clever 
and would not have used such obvious means had she 
wished to learn if Lawrence had a sister who had at¬ 
tracted him. What she wanted was to persuade him 
that the packet was not important. 

“I’d sooner talk about the errand you gave me. 
Did you know what the packet contained ?” 

She laughed, but he thought the laugh was forced. 
“Doesn’t that sound rather stupid when I sent the 
thing ?” 

“Perhaps it does,” said Foster gravely. “Still, I 
hope you didn’t know.” 

Her coquettish manner vanished and she leaned 
slightly forward while her eyes got hard. Indeed, 
there was something feline in her alert pose. Now she 
had, so to speak, unsheathed her claws, he was glad 
the advantage was heavily on his side. For all that, 
he did not want to hurt her. 

“Go on,” she said sharply. 


CARMEN GETS A SHOCK 


221 


"Very well. I got an answer, which I opened. I’ll 
show it to you, but won’t give it up.” 

"You opened it!” she exclaimed. "Do you mean 
to keep a letter that was sent to me ?” 

"I don’t think it was sent to you; that’s impor¬ 
tant.” 

Carmen smiled defiantly and Foster admired her 
pluck, since it was obvious that he had found out the 
trick. Still he thought she did not know how impor¬ 
tant the letter really was. 

"Then you can quit fencing and get down to busi¬ 
ness,” she said, and Foster saw that the surface polish 
she generally wore was thin. The character it con¬ 
cealed was fierce and somewhat primitive. He had 
suspected that Carmen would not be restrained by 
conventions if she let herself go. 

"If you’ll be patient, I’ll try to make things plain.” 

He began by hastily recounting what had happened 
at the factory the night Fred Hulton was killed. Car¬ 
men was obviously puzzled, which was a relief to him, 
but he saw comprehension in her look as he went on to 
relate how he had been watched by the police, and his 
interview with Graham and subsequent adventures. 
By degrees, her understanding changed to horror, and 
when he stopped he saw that she had got a cruel 
shock. Her face was white, her gaze was fixed, and 
her eyes were unusually wide open. Still he thought it 
was through her pride she suffered most. Then she 
braced herself and looked at him scornfully. 

"You surely lost your nerve and got imagining 
things when you were hiding in the bogs. It’s a quite 
impossible story!” 

"It sounds like that, but I have some proof; money 


222 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


for Daly and another man, which I suppose you were 
to send on. It’s evidently their share of the plunder.” 

He took out his wallet and held up the checks, 
keeping, however, a firm grip on them, because he 
knew that if Carmen meant to fight for her lover she 
would not be scrupulous. 

“Daly wasn’t near the factory the night Fred Hul- 
ton was killed. I know where he was,” she said in a 
strained but defiant voice. 

“All the better for him,” Foster rejoined. “It’s 
pretty clear that he had a share in the thing.” 

Carmen suddenly leaned back and turned her head. 
She had given in sooner than Foster expected, but the 
evidence was overwhelming. He did not look at her 
for some moments and felt ashamed of the cruelty 
he had had to use, but there was no avoiding this 
when a number of people’s happiness was at stake. 
After all, he thought it was rather her ambition than 
her affection that had been engaged. Then rousing 
herself with an effort she turned to him. 

“Well,” she said, “it looks as if I’d had an escape!” 

Foster felt comforted, but did not answer, and she 
resumed: “You haven’t told me this for nothing. 
What do you want?” 

“I want to know where Daly is. I’ve no doubt he 
called here on his way west and you have his address.” 

“You can’t force me to give it you.” 

“I don’t know if I can or not, but don’t want to use 
force,” Foster replied, and while he waited, hesitating 
to play his last card, Carmen looked up with fear in 
her eyes. 

“Jake,” she said, “you mustn’t think my father 


CARMEN GETS A SHOCK 


223 

knows anything about this. I sent the packet, without 
telling him, because Daly asked me.” 

“But your father and he had some business together 
that nobody knew about.” 

“They had. They were really backing Nicholson, 
who got the first recorders turned off the Fish-hawk 
silver claim.” 

“Ah!” said Foster, “now I understand!” 

He was glad to admit that her statement explained 
Austin’s rather mysterious association with Daly. 
Public feeling had been strongly roused by the dispute 
about the mine, whose finders it was believed had 
been cunningly cheated out of their rights. There 
were, moreover, hints of foul play about a dangerous 
accident in the workings that had given the victorious 
claimants a legal advantage. Foster could imagine 
Daly’s finding scope for his talents in the trickery and 
intrigue, and saw why Austin did not want his share 
in it known. 

“In a way, it’s a relief to find that’s all your father 
had to do with the fellow,” he resumed. “Anyhow, 
I want his address.” 

*‘I won’t give it you,” Carmen answered stubbornly. 

Foster hesitated. The shock the girl had got had 
broken down her self-control. He shrank from turn¬ 
ing this to his advantage and dealing her another 
blow, but could not be fastidious when his partner’s 
safety and Alice Featherstone’s happiness were at 
stake. Besides, it would be better for Carmen that her 
infatuation for Daly should be altogether destroyed. 

“Well,” he said, “I’m surprised that you should 
still feel you ought to protect the man, and must try 
to convince you that he doesn’t deserve it.” 


224 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Then he related what he had seen in the corridor 
of the Carlisle hotel and how Miss Huntley had helped 
Daly to deceive him. Carmen’s face paled and then 
suddenly turned crimson; but she answered with a 
quietness he had not expected: 

“You’re not a liar, Jake, so I suppose this is true. 
But you’re all of you human, and you say the girl is 
pretty. What you saw mayn’t mean very much.” 

“She wore an engagement ring. I don’t imagine it 
was given her by another man.” 

Then Carmen flung the last of her self-contrtol 
away. Her eyes flashed and Foster thought she looked 
like a wild cat as she indulged her savage rage. 

“The cur!” she cried in a harsh voice. “He went 
to Banff, in British Columbia. Now you know, you 
had better go after him. Do what you like with him; 
I don’t mind!” 

Foster went to the door, but as he reached it she 
called him back and looked at him with a bitter, 
mocking smile. 

“You’re smarter than I thought, Jake, but I suppose 
you think I don’t know why you meddled! It wasn’t 
for your partner’s sake, though I soon guessed that 
Daly was getting after him; Featherstone has a sister, 
and you have fallen in love with her. Well, she can 
have you with pleasure if she has any use for you, and 
before long you’ll make her deadly tired. You’d bore 
a live woman crazy in a week; you’ll never be rich, 
because you’re afraid of touching a dollar you don’t 
earn, and you’ve got the morals of a convent-school 
girl!” She gasped and resumed in a scream: “Why 
don’t you go before I throw something at you?” 

Foster left and was glad when he shut the door. 


CARMEN GETS A SHOCK 


225 


Carmen was obviously beside herself and had gone 
further than she meant. If it was any comfort to 
insult him, he did not grudge it her, but thought he 
saw where her remarks led. He had been rather fond 
of Carmen, as she no doubt knew, before he under¬ 
stood her, and their friendship might have ripened 

until- Well, he was sorry for her, but it looked as 

if she was not the only person who had had an escape. 

When he got outside, he went to the factory and 
found Hulton alone in the president’s room. The man 
looked worn, but greeted Foster with a reserved smile 
and gave him a cigar. 

“You haven’t been away very long,” he remarked. 
“Didn’t your visit turn out as pleasant as you ex¬ 
pected ?” 

“In one way, it did not. But why did you send the 
British police after me?” 

“As a matter of fact, I let them know you were 
all right, but my agent had to go to them, and thought 
it might be better if they kept a watch on you. You’d 
got busy about some mysterious business. What was 
it?” 

“I can’t tell you,” said Foster bluntly. “It only 
concerns me and Feather stone, but it led to something 
else; I’ll come to that later. What about the man I 
helped on the train? If he got through all right, why 
didn’t he send me word ?” 

“As the fellows who attacked you had got on the 
wrong track, we thought we’d let them follow it, but 
they were smarter than we reckoned and we lost 
them.” 

“Then you made use of me, at my risk, as the 
Scottish police did afterwards?” Foster rejoined. “I 



226 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


don’t know that I’ve much to thank you for, since it 
led to my being thrown off the Montreal express and 
chased across the Border bogs.” 

“I must allow that we did something of the kind,” 
Hulton owned with a smile. “But we’ll let that go. 
What have you found out?” 

Foster handed him Graham’s letter and the check 
on the American bank, but not the circular check for 
Daly. Hulton’s face showed stern satisfaction and he 
gave Foster a very grateful look. 

“I owe you much for this and am not going to for¬ 
get the service. These papers prove conspiracy and 
robbery, and clear my boy. But how did you get 
them?” 

Foster supplied a garbled account of his interview 
with Graham, and Hulton looked at him thoughtfully. 

“It’s plain that you’re keeping something back, but 
if it’s your or your partner’s business, I suppose I 
can’t object. I believe you mean to do the square 
thing.” 

“Thank you,” said Foster. “What have you found 
out about Daly?” 

“Enough to show he wasn’t at the factory the night 
Fred was killed,” Hulton answered with stern self- 
control. “But he was in the plot and is being watched 
in Scotland.” 

“Then you don’t know that he’s in Canada?” 

Hulton stretched out his hand to a bell, but Foster 
stopped him. 

“Wait a moment! You have got to leave Daly to 
me. Anyhow, you’re not to send your agents or the 
police after him until I telegraph you. I’m going to 
look for him by to-night’s train.” 


CARMEN GETS A SHOCK 


227 


“The train goes west,” Hulton answered meaningly. 

‘‘It does, but if I think I’m followed, I’ll spoil the 
trail.” 

Hulton’s eyes flashed and his face set very hard. 
“The man belongs to the gang that killed my son and 
tried to blacken his name. I don’t quit until I’ve run 
the last rogue down.” 

“I mean to see Daly first,” Foster answered dog¬ 
gedly. 

After a moment or two, Hulton made a gesture of 
agreement. “Very well; I allow you have a claim. 
But I won’t interfere if my agents have already got on 
his track.” 

“I must take the risk of that,” Foster replied and 
left the factory a few minutes afterwards. 


XXIII 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 

T^\ALY was not at Banff, and Foster, who made 
^ cautious inquiries, found nothing to indicate 
that he had been there. Indeed, he began to weigh the 
possibility of Carmen’s having deceived him, but re¬ 
jected this explanation. The girl was clever at in¬ 
trigue, but he did not think she had acted a part. She 
had really lost her self-control and told him the truth 
in a fit of rage. On the other hand, it was possible that 
Daly had deceived her, but there was no obvious rea¬ 
son for his doing so. 

The fellow, however, was not in Banff, which is a 
small place, frequented mostly by tourists and invalids 
who come there in summer, and Foster took a west¬ 
bound train. He was once more at a loss and felt 
dispirited. For one thing, he had no time to lose, be¬ 
cause it would spoil his plans if Hulton’s agents got on 
Daly’s track before him. 

He left Banff late at night, with a ticket for Van¬ 
couver, which he had bought on speculation, partly 
because the seaboard city is a clearing-house for travel¬ 
ers to all parts of the Pacific coast, but did not sleep 
much as the heavy train rumbled through the moun¬ 
tains. The jolting of the cars and the roar of wheels 
that echoed among the rocks disturbed him, and he 
was troubled by gloomy thoughts. He had promised 
228 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 229 

Alice Featherstone that he would clear her brother; 
but he had also to clear himself, and in order to do so 
must find Lawrence as well as Daly. Just now he had 
not much hope of finding either, but he cherished a 
vague belief in his luck, and it was unthinkable that he 
should neglect any chance of justifying the girl’s con¬ 
fidence. He was ready to follow Daly round the 
world, sooner than lose that. The trouble was that 
he could not tell if he was following the fellow or not. 

He went to sleep at last, and getting up rather late, 
spent an hour or two trying to knit up broken clews 
and looking for a light. It was a profitless but absorb¬ 
ing occupation and he vacantly glanced at the majestic 
panorama of snowy peaks and climbing forest that 
rolled past the windows of the car. When his 
thoughts wandered from their groove, he saw Alice 
Featherstone moving with stately calm about the 
Garth, or standing in the orchard with the sunset shin¬ 
ing on her face. He recalled the grace of her tall 
figure and how her dress harmonized with the mossy 
trunks, but he loved to dwell upon the look of trust in 
her steady eyes. Then the memories were suddenly 
banished, for a whistle rang up the track and there was 
a jar of brakes. 

Foster hurried out to the platform when the long 
train stopped, and saw the conductor talking to the 
engineer and passengers jumping down into the snow. 
Pete joined him as he followed them, but he stopped 
for some moments and looked about. There was no 
station near. The track, which was marked by cinders 
and stains on the snow, ran along a desolate mountain¬ 
side. Dark pines that looked as if they had been 
dusted with icing-sugar rolled in curiously rigid ranks 


230 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


up the slope, getting smaller until they dwindled to a 
fine saw-edge that bit into a vast sweep of white. This 
ended in a row of jagged peaks whose summits 
gleamed with dazzling brightness against the blue sky. 
Below the track, the ground fell away to a tremendous 
gorge, where dark-colored mist hung about a green 
river dotted with drifting ice. The sun struck warm 
upon his face, though the snow was dry. 

“We’ll find out why they’ve stopped,” he said to 
Pete and walked forward past the cars. 

The engineer stood on the step of the huge locomo¬ 
tive and had not much information to give. 

“Track’s gone down not far ahead; snow-slide, I 
guess.” 

He shrugged when Foster asked if it would be a 
long job. “You can see for yourself, if you like,” he 
remarked, indicating a plume of smoke that rose above 
the pines, “There’s a construction gang at work round 
the bend. It’s a sure thing we won’t pull out before 
you’re back.” 

Foster set ofif with Pete and several passengers, and 
the Scot gazed about with wonder. 

“I was born among the hills, but never have I seen 
ought like this!” he exclaimed. “Man, it passes 
dreamin’ o’; it’s just stupenjious! But I wouldna’ 
say they’ll mak’ much o’ farming here.” 

“They have some bench tablelands and pretty rich 
alluvial valleys,” Foster answered with a smile. “The 
province depends largely on its minerals.” 

Pete glanced back up the track that wound down 
between rock and forest from a distant notch in the 
high, white rampart. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 231 

‘Tm thinking the men who built yon line had stout 

hearts. ,, 

“It wasn’t an easy job,” Foster agreed. “They 
were up against savage Nature, and she’s still too 
strong for the engineer now and then, as I expect you’ll 
shortly see.” 

They walked through a gap in the pines and stopped 
with a sense of awe on the edge of a great red furrow 
in the mountain. The gash was fringed by shattered 
trees, and here and there a giant splintered trunk 
rested precariously among stones ground to fragments. 
Far beneath, a vast pile of earth and snow dammed the 
river, and half-way up an overturned locomotive, with 
boiler crushed like an eggshell, lay among the wreck¬ 
age. The end of a smashed box-car rose out of the 
boiling flood. For a hundred yards the track had 
vanished, but gangs of men were hurrying to and fro 
about the gap. Farther back, there was clang of flung- 
down rails and a ringing of hammers. 

“If they open the road again by to-morrow morning, 
they’ll be lucky,” Foster remarked, and stopped a big 
fellow who was going past with an ax on his shoulder. 
“Is there any settlement not too far ahead ?” 

“There’s a smart new hotel at the flag station about 
six miles off,” said the man. “You can make it all 
right walking if you keep to the track and watch out 
you don’t meet the construction train in the snowshed.” 

Foster, who knew he would find waiting tedious, 
went back to the car for his small bag, after which he 
and Pete set off for the hotel. They had some trouble 
to cross the path of the avalanche and then spent some 
time getting past the men who were unloading a row 
of flat cars. The single-line track was cut out of the 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


232 

rock and one ran a risk of glissading down to the river 
by venturing outside its edge. Once, indeed, a heavy 
beam, thrown too far, plunged down like a toboggan, 
and leaping from a rock’s crest splashed into the flood. 
The men on the cars worked in furious haste, and it 
was difficult to avoid the clanging rails they threw off. 

Foster got past, but did not find walking easy when 
he had done so. The track wound among the folds of 
the hills, and where the sun had struck the snow there 
was a slippery crust, through which he broke. Where 
it ran past tall crags and between the trees, the snow 
was dry and loose as dust. They made something 
over two miles in the first hour and soon afterwards 
came to the mouth of a snowshed. The opening made 
a dark blotch on the glittering slope, for the roof was 
pitched at a very small angle to the declivity and the 
snow passed down hill over it with scarcely a wrinkle. 
It was only when they entered they saw signs of man’s 
work in the massive beams and stringers that braced 
the structure. These were presently lost in the gloom 
and Foster stumbled among the ties. Shingle ballast 
rolled under his feet; where he found a tie to step on 
it was generally by stubbing his toe, and once or twice 
he struck the side of the shed. 

For all that, he pushed on as fast as possible. The 
warning he had been given was indefinite, but it looked 
as if a train was shortly expected and the locomotive, 
with its outside cylinders, would not give them much 
room. He imagined that refuges would be provided 
at intervals, but did not know where to find them. 
Now and then they stopped to listen, but heard noth¬ 
ing. There was deep silence, which was a relief, and 
they blundered on again as fast as they could. It was 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 233 

rather daunting work and one could not make much 
speed, but when a faint, muffled throbbing reached 
them they began to run. 

Foster had no means of guessing the length of the 
shed, and as he slipped among the ballast looked anx¬ 
iously in front, but could not see the glimmering patch 
of light he expected. The darkness was impenetrable, 
but the contour of the hillside' had indicated that the 
shed was curved, and the outlet might be nearer than 
he thought. In the meantime, the sweat ran down 
his face and his breath came hard. He was in good 
training, for his journeys among the Scottish hills had 
strengthened his muscles, but the footing was bad 
among the stones, and he labored through them awk¬ 
wardly with set lips and clenched hands. He thought 
of throwing away his heavy coat, but it would take a 
few moments to get it off and he must put down the 
bag, in which there was the letter he would need. By 
and by his foot struck something and lurching forward 
he lost his balance and came down heavily. The blow 
shook him and he was a little slow in getting up until 
he felt a rail he put his hand on quiver. Then he 
scrambled to his feet, but could not find the bag. 

“I hae’t,” said Pete, who seized his arm and urged 
him forward. 

A deep snorting reached them and a tie he trod on 
trembled, but as he ran savagely with labored breath 
there was an elusive glimmer in the dark ahead. It 
grew brighter, an irregularly-shaped white patch ap¬ 
peared, and making a tense effort while the ballast 
rolled beneath his feet, he staggered into the sunshine. 
Then with a gasp of keen relief he threw himself upon 
the snow beside the track. 


234 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


About a hundred yards away, a giant locomotive 
toiled up the incline, hurling out clouds of smoke that 
streamed far back among the pines. The road bed 
shook and the hillside rang with the din of wheels. 
While Foster lay panting, the locomotive labored past, 
and then long, flat cars, on which men sat upon the 
load of jarring rails, clanged by. The black mouth of 
the shed swallowed them, a cloud of smoke and dusty 
snow curled about the opening, and the uproar sud¬ 
denly sank to a muffled rumble. This died away and 
the deep silence of the mountains was emphasized by 
the sound of the river. 

“We were not much too soon,” Foster said with a 
breathless laugh. “Now I come to think of it, there’s 
no obvious reason we shouldn’t have stopped on board 
the train and got our lunch comfortably. I seem to 
have a habit of doing unusual and unnecessary things; 
it’s curious how soon you get into trouble when you 
indulge a bent like that.” 

“Yon’s a verra true remairk,” Pete agreed. “It’s 
a rough and thorny world, an’ if ye will not walk in the 
cleared paths but gang yere air gait, ye must struggle 
with the briars.” 

“And scramble through snowsheds? You Scots are 
a philosophical lot. But do you call poaching sticking 
to the beaten path?” 

“I’m thinking it’s as near it as stravaging aboot the 
Border mosses, when ye might gang by train.” 

“A fair hit! But after all, man wears the regula¬ 
tion paths so deep that he can’t get out when he wants. 
What about the pioneers, who blaze the new trails? 
Aren’t they needed ?” 

“Whiles, maybe,” Pete answered grinning. “For 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 235 

a’ that, they maun tak’ the consequences. Do ye feel 
it's yere business to break a new road ?” 

“Certainly not! I’m not a philanthropist and would 
be quite satisfied with making things a little easier for 
myself and my friends, but am much afraid I haven’t 
succeeded yet. In fact, there’s one friend in England 
who’s very far from grateful. But the question is—« 
Why did I leave the train?” 

“Ye just felt ye had to?” 

“I think I did. But why did I feel that?” 

Pete chuckled. “There ye have me! This I ken; 
whiles when I had a hare or a few paltrig in the lining 
o’ my auld coat and cam’ to a slap in a dyke, I had a 
kind o’ feeling yon was no’ the road for me. I couldna’ 
tell there was a keeper hiding on the ither side; but I 
didna’ gang. Maybe it’s better no’ to argue but follow 
yere heart.” 

“No,” said Foster, “I imagine it’s really better to 
follow your head. In the meantime, I’ve had no lunch 
and think we’ll get on.” 

They came to a wide hollow in the hills where the 
snow was deep and loose. The sun was shut out and 
the frost was keen, while Foster saw by the lengthen¬ 
ing shadow of the pines across the river that the after¬ 
noon was wearing on. A glance at his watch showed 
that he had been walking for nearly three hours, but 
there was no sign of the hotel. Dark masses of trees 
ran up from the water to the line of summer snow, and 
no roof or curl of smoke broke their somber monotony. 
High above, the peaks glittered with a steely brightness 
that seemed to intensify the cold. 

Their breath hung about them as they plodded on, 
but at length, when they came to the middle of the 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


236 

bend, where the hills curved out again, there was a 
break and they stopped at the end of a bridge. The 
low sun shone into the gap, which was profoundly deep 
and majestically beautiful. On its farther side, tre¬ 
mendous crags held up the snow, which trickled down 
their faces in thin gray streaks and stretched back 
above, steeped in soft blue shadow. On Foster’s side, 
giant pines glimmered a bright green in the warm 
light, running up to a glittering slope that ended in two 
rugged peaks, and a river that sprang from a wrinkled 
glacier foamed through the dusky gorge. Where a 
small clearing had been cut in the forest, steep red 
roofs stood out in harmonious contrast with the green 
of the firs, and a picturesque wooden building with 
pillars and verandas occupied the greater part of the 
opening. 

“If the place is as attractive inside, it’s worth the 
walk,” Foster remarked. “You appreciate your quar¬ 
ters best when you’ve had some trouble to get there.” 

“I’m thinking that’s true. The peat fire and the 
auld rush chair in the bit cothouse are weel worth win¬ 
ning to when ye come through the rain and wind ower 
the dark moss. This is a gran’ country, but it’s no’ 
like that ither amang the Border fells.” 

Foster stood for a few moments and mused, for he 
sympathized with Pete. He remembered the satis¬ 
faction with which he had seen the lights of a lonely 
inn or farmstead twinkle when he tramped, wet and 
tired, across the Scottish moors. They were bleak and 
often forbidding, but had a charm one felt but could 
not analyze, with the half-lights that trembled across 
them and their subdued coloring. In spite of some 
hardships, he had been happy in the misty, rain-swept 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 237 

land, but he knew it had been touched by the glamour 
of romance. That was over. He was on his probation 
in utilitarian Canada, and very much at a loss; but 
he meant to make good somehow and go forward, 
trusting in his luck. 

“Well,” he said, “I’m hungry and we’ll get on. I 
hope they won’t make us wait for supper, though 
they’ll no doubt call it dinner at a place like this.” 

Five minutes afterwards he stamped the snow off 
his boots as he entered a glass-fronted veranda in 
front of the hotel. It was comfortably furnished, 
warm, and occupied by three people. A lady sat with 
some sewing at a table, and a very pretty girl, holding 
a cigarette case, leaned over the side of a basket chair, 
in which a man reclined. Foster, who imagined he 
was an invalid by his slack pose, was passing on to the 
main door when the man moved. As he turned to take 
a cigarette Foster saw his face. 

“Lawrence!” he exclaimed. 

“Jake!” said the other, and would have got up, but 
the girl put her hand restrainingly on his arm. 

Foster stood still for a moment, overcome by sur¬ 
prise and satisfaction, but understanding what he saw. 
The lady with the sewing was studying him, but he 
did not resent this and thought he would like her. The 
girl divided her attention between him and his com¬ 
rade, whom she restrained with a pretty air of author¬ 
ity. She obviously knew who Foster was and felt 
curious, but meant to take care of Lawrence. There 
was something in her protective manner that Foster 
found singularly charming. Then Lawrence beckoned 
and held out his hand. 


238 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

‘Tm uncommonly glad to see you, Jake, but how 
did you get here ?” 

“Why aren’t you in California?” 

They both laughed and Lawrence turned to the lady. 

“This is my neglectful partner, as I dare say you 
have guessed. Mrs. Stephen, of Victoria, Jake.” 

She gave Foster her hand and he was next presented 
to Miss Lucy Stephen. Then Lawrence indicated Pete, 
who waited, looking very big and muscular but quite at 
ease. 

“Who’s this and where did you get him? I’ll en¬ 
gage that he was born between Ettrick and Liddel.” 

“He kens!” Peter remarked with a twinkle. “My 
hame’s no’ far frae Ettrick, sir.” 

“My friend, Pete Scott,” said Foster. “You have 
heard the ladies’ names, Pete, but this is my partner, 
Mr. Featherstone, from the Garth.” 

Pete lifted his hand to his forehead and the move¬ 
ment had a touch of dignity. “Your servant, all; an’, 
if ye’ll alloo it, Mr. Foster’s friends are mine.” 

Lawrence laughed. “A very proper sentiment, and 
a true Borderer! But you haven’t told us how you 
found him, Jake.” 

“It’s a long tale,” said Foster. “Besides, I’m hun¬ 
gry. So I expect is Pete.” 

Lucy Stephen rang a bell. “Tea ought to be ready. 
We often take it here.” 

The tea was brought a few minutes afterwards and 
when Lucy gave him his cup Foster sat in a basket 
chair studying his comrade. Lawrence’s face was 
pinched and his pose languid, but Foster thought he 
was not so ill as he had been. He did not know how 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 239 

much he ought to ask and had decided to wait until 
they were alone when Lawrence smiled. 

“You needn’t be alarmed, partner. I’m very much 
better than I was and will soon be quite fit again.” 

“We have good ground for hoping so,” Lucy 
Stephen added in a friendly tone, and Foster thought 
she had noted his anxiety and liked him for it. 

Her remark seemed to warrant his looking at her 
and he approved what he saw. The girl was attractive 
and had character, but what struck him at first sight 
was the protective gentleness she showed his comrade. 
He liked her eyes, which were a soft, clear blue, while 
her supple figure and warm-tinted skin hinted that she 
was vigorous. It was plain that she had not Alice 
Featherstone’s reserve and pride, nor he thought the 
depth of tenderness that the latter hid. She was softer 
and more pliable, for Alice was marked by an unflinch¬ 
ing steadfastness. He smiled as he admitted that for 
him Alice stood alone on an unapproachable plane. 

“But how did you get ill ?” he asked. 

“I was left on an icy couloir Lawrence replied. 
“When they found me I was half-frozen, but it makes 
a story that’s probably as long as yours. I’ll tell it 
you later. How’s our Borderer getting on?” 

Foster turned to Pete, who had a large, hot Cana¬ 
dian biscuit on his plate. “This kind of meal isn’t very 
common in this country, Pete. Perhaps I’d better 
warn you that there’ll be another by and by.” 

“Aweel,” said Pete, grinning, “I’ve no’ done so bad. 
It’s a guid plan to mak’ certain when ye hae the 
chance.” 


XXIV 


Lawrence’s story 

W HEN the meal was over Foster began to feel 
impatient. Pete went away, but Mrs. Stephen 
and Lucy remained, and Foster, having much to ask 
and tell his comrade, was embarrassed by their pres¬ 
ence. By and by he saw that Lawrence was watching 
him with quiet amusement. 

“It’s like old times to have you with us,” Lawrence 
remarked. “In fact, it only needed your turning up 
to complete my satisfaction; but you’re a disturbing 
fellow. Don’t you think this lucky reunion is rather 
too good to spoil ?” 

Foster knew what he meant and was tempted to 
agree, though he felt this was weak. It was pleasant 
to lounge, enjoying careless talk, and the society of the 
two ladies had its charm. They added a touch of 
domesticity and gave the place a homelike look, while 
the girl made an attractive picture as she handed Law¬ 
rence his matches and cigarettes. Foster thought it 
was worth being ill to be waited on like that. Then 
his chair was comfortable and he could see the sunset 
fading on the snow. 

The sky was a wonderful pale-green and the high 
peaks glowed against it, softly red. There was a belt 
where the snow glittered, but lower down it faded to 
gray and blue. The pines were nearly black, but rose 
240 


LAWRENCE’S STORY 


241 


out of the shadow in sharp-cut spires, and far down in 
the dusky gorge, from which the roar of the flood and 
crash of ice ascended, there were gleams of livid foam. 
Still there was much he wanted to learn, and it was 
something of a relief when Mrs. Stephen picked up her 
sewing and gave her daughter a meaning glance. To 
Foster’s surprise, Lawrence interposed. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d sooner you didn’t go.” 
Then he turned to Foster with a smile. “It’s obvious 
that you want to unbosom yourself, Jake, but you can 
begin. You needn’t be afraid of mentioning Daly. 
Lucy knows.” 

Foster remarked the girl’s blush. Since she knew 
so much, it was plain that Lawrence had asked her 
to marry him and she had agreed. He imagined that 
Lawrence wanted Mrs. Stephen to hear somebody 
else’s account of the matter, and although it would 
have been easier to talk to Lawrence alone, he asked: 

“Did you know the fellow was in Banff a day or 
two since?” 

Lucy Stephen made an abrupt movement, and her 
mother looked interested. She was a quiet lady and 
more reserved than the girl, but Foster thought her 
intelligent and firm. 

“I did not,” said Lawrence. “As a matter of fact, 
I’m no longer afraid of the fellow and mean to fight. 
He can’t do me much harm—now.” 

The girl’s shy glance at his comrade moved Foster. 
She knew what her lover meant and valued his trust; 
but he could sympathize with Mrs. Stephen, who 
looked disturbed. The latter was practical and no 
doubt saw that Daly might give them trouble. 

“You had better begin at the beginning, and then 


242 


CARMEN S MESSENGER 


we’ll understand why you came back and how you got 
on Daly’s trail,” Lawrence resumed with a hint of 
resignation. 

“Very well; but first, why didn’t you write?” 

“I wrote twice. Once to my mother and once to 
you.” 

“We got no letters. Did you post them?” 

“Ah!” said Lawrence, “that was unfortunate. I 
gave the first letter to a steward to send ashore from a 
San Francisco boat. Walters put the other in the 
mail.” 

“Who is Walters?” 

“We’ll come to him later. Get on with your story.” 

Foster told it as clearly as he could, though this took 
some time, and when he had finished was annoyed by 
his comrade’s smile. Lawrence seldom took things 
seriously enough. 

“Jake is a born meddler,” he remarked to the others. 
“He can’t resist the temptation to put crooked matters 
right.” 

“It is a useful habit,” said Mrs. Stephen quietly. 

“Just so,” Lawrence agreed. ‘Still it’s a habit that 
ought to be carefully controlled and not, so to speak, 
be indulged out of sentimental impulses.” 

Foster felt embarrassed, although he thought he had 
said no more about Carmen and Alice than was needed 
to make his narrative clear. 

“First of all,” Lawrence resumed, “he takes up my 
defense, then he must help Carmen, and I think de¬ 
served the trouble in which she involved him. Next 
he seems to have been moved by my sister’s anxiety.” 
He paused and gave Foster a curious quiet smile. “I 


LAWRENCE’S STORY 


243 

wondered what Alice would think of you and hope she 
was grateful/’ 

Foster saw Lucy’s interest, and wondered whether 
he had told more than he meant, but his comrade’s 
amusement seemed uncalled for, and he rejoined: “I 
imagined I’d made it plain that your sister wasn’t the 
only relative your carelessness alarmed.” 

“You did. The situation wasn’t without its humor, 
Jake. After you had embarked on a number of strange 
adventures on my behalf, it must have been galling to 
be suspected of having made away with me. How¬ 
ever, I understand that Alice didn’t take this view?” 

“She did not,” said Foster shortly, and Lawrence 
rang a bell. 

“Get me a C. P. telegram form,” he ordered the 
waiter. 

The form was brought, and Lawrence filled it up 
and gave it to the man. Then he fixed his eyes on 
Foster and remarked carelessly: “I’ve sent it in your 
name, Jake, and not to my father. I thought some¬ 
body had better break the comforting news to him, 
and briefly stated that you had found me.” 

“Oughtn’t you to have added some particulars?” 
Mrs. Stephen asked. 

“On the whole, I don’t think so. For one thing, 
Jake’s taciturn modesty rather becomes him, and the 
charges for an English telegram are high.” 

Foster said nothing, but he knew the message had 
been sent to Alice and Lawrence was satisfied with 
him as his sister’s lover. This was something, but 
Lawrence’s approval might not count for much. 

“That’s done with,” the latter resumed. “Since 
you didn’t find Daly at Banff, we have to decide if Car- 


244 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


men meant to deceive you and he never intended going 
there. I rather think we had better leave it to Mrs. 
Stephen and Lucy.” 

“I imagine she told the truth,” Lucy replied. “If 
she had loved the man, she might, after all, have tried 
to protect him; but a selfish, ambitious girl who found 
she had been cheated, would be capable of ruining him 
in a fit of jealous rage.” 

“But I didn’t state that she was ambitious and self¬ 
ish,” objected Foster. 

Lawrence’s eyes twinkled. “You don’t realize all 
your talents, Jake. For one thing, you have a gift for 
narrative, and the portrait you drew of Carmen with a 
stroke or two was lifelike. Then, when you met and 
bluffed her into giving Daly away, you couldn’t have 
taken a more effective line if you had been an ambassa¬ 
dor. What do you think, Mrs. Stephen ?” 

“Mr. Foster seems to have used all his advantages 
and the girl got a shock that found out her weak 
points, I believe she meant to ruin her worthless 
lover.” 

“So do I,” Lawrence agreed. “I expect you have 
made Jake sorry he was firm, but I’d warned him about 
Carmen and she doesn’t deserve much pity. But why 
did Daly leave England and how did he find out that 
I’d been at Banff?” 

“If you’ll tell me what you have done since you left 
the Crossing, it might help to solve the puzzle,” Foster 
replied. 

Lawrence made a gesture of resignation. “I sup¬ 
pose it must be told. I went to California and didn’t 
get as well as I expected. There was a good deal of 
sea-fog on the coast and after a time I went farther 


LAWRENCE’S STORY 


24 5 

south. That’s one reason I didn’t write; I felt languid 
and dejected and didn’t want to alarm my folks. Well, 
I tried Mexico and got rather worse; besides I found 
lounging tiresome work. In consequence, I joined a 
steamer going north and her doctor told me that dry 
cold mountain air was the best cure for troubles like 
mine. I met Walters on the voyage up the coast.” 

“Perhaps you had better describe him,” Lucy sug¬ 
gested. 

“Walters looks about my age and is thin and dark; 
an amusing fellow and remarkably well informed. In 
fact, I couldn’t guess his nationality; he seemed to 
have been everywhere. He had good manners, but 
somehow one missed-” 

“Something that good manners must be founded 
on,” Lucy interposed. 

Foster saw that they had argued about the man 
before, because Lawrence smiled indulgently. 

“Then how did he make your acquaintance?” he 
asked the girl. 

“That was not altogether Lawrence’s fault. Wal¬ 
ters was cleverer than he thought.” 

“And he mailed one of the letters that did not ar¬ 
rive?” 

“The fellow,” Lawrence continued, “was a pleasant 
companion and when I mentioned why I was traveling 
agreed that the mountains were best for me. Told me 
about some friends of his whom the air had cured.” 

“In short, he recommended your trying Banff,” 
Lucy remarked. 

“He did me a good turn there. We separated at 
Seattle, but I found him at Victoria, where I stopped 



CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


246 

some weeks. It was there I met Lucy, who was going 
to Banff. I must explain that she’s a mountaineer.” 

The girl blushed. “I climbed in the Olympians 
twice with college friends. They talked about explor¬ 
ing some of the northern glaciers next summer, and as 
we wanted a change, I persuaded mother to spend a 
month or two at a mountain resort where I could get 
some practice on the ice.” She paused and added in a 
grave voice: “I really don’t climb well, Mr. Foster, 
and doubt if I shall venture on the rocks again.” 

“Well,” resumed Lawrence, “we decided to go to 
Banff together. I got better rapidly and we made a 
few easy excursions into the mountains, but the 
weather was bad and we didn’t like our hotel. Then 
Walters turned up again and told us about this place. 
In fact, he was rather enthusiastic about it and said 
we’d find good rock climbs at the door, so we agreed to 
move.” 

“And took Walters?” 

“He was an amusing fellow. He’d a way of finding 
something interesting for one to do and was always 
ready when he was wanted; a very useful man to have 
about.” 

Foster imagined his comrade might have found the 
fellow about when he was not wanted, but Mrs. Ste¬ 
phen’s smile was illuminating. It seemed to hint that 
Lawrence had found Walters useful because he took 
her off his hands. Foster thought it curious that the 
man was satisfied with his part, since Lucy was a very 
attractive girl. Walters had obviously not attached 
himself to the party on her account. 

“As I got stronger we tried some harder climbs,” 
Lawrence went on. “Lucy is clever and steady on 


LAWRENCE’S STORY 


247 


the ice; I’d had some practice on Scawfell in winter 
when I was at home, and though Walters didn’t know 
much about the work his nerve is good. At length, we 
resolved to try the sharp peak yonder.” 

It was nearly dark, but Foster, looking up the valley, 
saw a white summit gleam against the sky. The 
shoulders of the mountain had faded to a pale gray, 
and the darker streak that filled a deep hollow marked 
a glacier. 

“We started early and at first found the glacier 
rough but safe. Walters had insisted on two guides; 
prospectors, used to the rocks, who now and then took 
a tourist party out. The glacier brought us up some 
height, but after a time the surface began to be broken 
by big crevasses. We spent two hours picking our way 
across and at noon saw we must find another route. 
The slope on the right would take us off our line; on 
the left there were high, icy rocks that would puzzle 
a member of the Alpine club.” 

“We sat down and examined the mountain with the 
glasses. Above the crags, a snowfield ran up to the 
foot of the last sharp ridge, but we did not see how we 
could reach it. Ragged clouds drove across the ridge 
and blowing snow streamed about the peak like mist. 
Lucy, however, was keen on going on, and by and 
by one of the guides picked out a coulee that might 
take us up. Coulee's good French-Canadian, but Al¬ 
pinists call it a couloir. It looked like a thin, white, 
perpendicular streak on the face of the dark rock. 
But perhaps I’m boring you with these particulars.” 

Lucy gave Foster a meaning glance and he said, 
“No; I want to understand the thing.” 

“It was awkward to reach the coulee , because the 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


248 

glacier was badly crevassed, but we got there. The 
gully was nearly precipitous; a narrow trough that 
serves as a rubbish shoot for the mountain when the 
thaw splits the rocks. I expect it’s ground smooth in 
summer, but it was filled with hard, slippery snow. 
We stopped again and studied it, and I felt doubtful 
about taking Lucy up, but she didn’t want to go back. 
Walters took my view and said we’d all go back, but he 
looked disappointed and Lucy wouldn’t agree.” 

“I lost my temper,” Lucy admitted. “I never liked 
Walters and when he supported Lawrence I got obsti¬ 
nate. Besides, I thought he really wanted to get rid 
of me.” 

“Anyhow, we decided that one guide should take 
Lucy back down the glacier.” 

“Walters decided,” Lucy objected. “It’s impor¬ 
tant, Mr. Foster, that he chose the guide. Be careful 
how you tell the rest, Lawrence.” 

“He said she must take the best man, and one 
laughed and said that if we meant to get up we’d better 
stick to him. Walters, however, sent this fellow off 
with Lucy, and then we fastened on the rope and be¬ 
gan to climb. We got up perhaps a hundred feet by 
kicking steps in the snow, but that’s a tiring job for 
the leader, and when he found a crack in the wall, 
where we could stop, the guide had had enough.” 

“Why was it necessary to find a crack?” Foster 
asked. 

“One couldn’t stand on the snow, and if we had 
tried to sit on it, we’d have shot down to the bottom; 
for the most part, the walls were ground smooth. 
When you go up a place like that, the leader kicks a 
little hole as high as he can in front, and then stands in 


LAWRENCE’S STORY 


249 


it while he makes another. The rest put their feet in 
the holes as they follow. Well, when we set off again 
I went first and had to use my ax because the snow 
had hardened into ice. I soon found out I hadn’t quite 
got better, and was forced to stop when we were nearly 
half-way up. We lay down, with our toes in the nicks, 
to rest, and I slid my flask down to Walters when I’d 
had a drink. It was a big flask, and I’d got it filled 
with brandy. I thought the guide took a remarkably 
long drink, but he looked steady when he crawled up 
to take my place. 

“After that it was very slow work and we were glad 
when we found a knob of rock sticking out of the ice. 
It had been ground into the shape of a bridge pier by 
the rubbish shooting past. We stopped a bit and 
argued if we should give it up, but the guide declared 
he knew a better way down into the next valley and 
Walters seemed keen, so we ate something, took an¬ 
other drink, and set off again. The slope was danger¬ 
ously steep and I thought the guide was using his ax 
wildly, but we came to -a deep crack in the wall and 
when Walters suggested that it might help us out of 
the gully I threw off the rope. It would have been 
of no use if I had fallen, and I meant to come down 
unless I saw a fairly safe route to the snowfield. In 
fact, I think I meant to give up the climb and only 
went to find an excuse for this. 

“The crack was not quite vertical and gave a good 
hold, but when I’d got up eighteen or twenty feet I 
came to an awkward slab. It bulged out, but I found 
a hold for my hands and scrambled over the edge. I 
managed this because the alternative was falling off 
and shooting to the bottom of the coulee, but perhaps 


25 ° 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


because I was weaker than I thought, I wrenched my 
shoulder during the lift. Anyhow, I couldn’t use my 
arm. It appeared afterwards that a ligament was 
strained, and the joint pinches yet. 

“For a minute or two I thought hard. There was 
no way up, and I hadn’t nerve enough to lower myself 
over the ledge by one arm. When I moved the other 
cautiously it hurt worse than at first. I called to the 
others and told them how I was fixed, but got a shock 
when the guide looked up. 

“ 'Can’t get down ?’ he said. 'Then why in thunder 
don’t you jump?’ 

" 'The fool’s drunk,’ Walters explained and added 
that he’d try to bring me the rope. 

"I told him to throw me the end, as there was a 
knob I could double it round and then slide down both 
parts. The trouble was that Walters had nothing 
much to stand on when he tried to throw the coil. He 
lost his balance, slid down the gully, and jerked the 
guide out of his step. I saw Walters’ ax shoot down 
in front, but the guide stuck to his, and the blade 
dragging over the rough surface checked them a bit. 
For all that, it looked as if they’d go straight to' the 
bottom and they would hardly have got there alive, 
but the small rock wasn’t far below. I don’t think I 
breathed while I waited to see if it would bring them 
up. 

“Walters struck the rock first and was very quick 
with the rope; in fact, I was astonished at his coolness, 
because he must have got a heavy blow. He stopped 
the other fellow and they lay on the rock for a few 
minutes. Then Walters shouted: 'He’s not to be 
trusted, and I can’t climb back alone.’ 


LAWRENCE’S STORY 


251 


“Well, it was some moments before I could face the 
situation, but I told him to get down as fast as he could 
and send a rescue party with the other guide. He 
objected, but admitted that he saw no other plan, and 
I felt desperately lonely as I watched them crawl down 
the couloir. I don’t know that I felt much worse after¬ 
wards, although it began to snow and my hands and 
feet seemed to turn to ice; two of my left fingers 
aren't of much use yet. The ledge was wide enough 
to sit on, but slanted, and one had to be careful to keep 
from slipping off. The snow stopped, but when dark 
came I’d given up hope of the rescue party’s arriving in 
time. As a matter of fact, they were nearly too late, 
and I was in bed a month after they got me down; but 
Lucy can tell you the rest. You see, she saved my 
life.” 

A wave of color flushed Lucy’s face. “When I 
reached the hotel I felt uneasy, and when it got dark 
and Lawrence didn’t come I was alarmed. I had kept 
the guide who brought me home, and sent him to find 
some of his friends at a ranch not far off. They went 
back to look, for Lawrence.” 

“You went back,” said Lawrence reprovingly. 

“As far as the first big crevasse; they wouldn’t let 
me cross. But before this we met Walters and the 
other guide, who was drunk. Walters wanted to come 
with us, but I wouldn’t allow him.” 

“You thought he was too tired?” Foster suggested. 

“No,” said Lucy quietly, “it wasn’t altogether 
that.” 

Foster saw she would say no more about it, which 
seemed significant, and he let her go on. 

“There is not much more to tell,” she said with a 


252 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


shiver. “I was very anxious while I waited behind a 
hummock of ice, but at last I heard the men coming; 
they were carrying Lawrence, who couldn’t walk. We 
got him down to the hotel—'and I think that’s all.” 

“But what became of Walters?” Foster asked. 

“He stayed for a few days, and we were glad when 
he had to leave. He was in the way when Lawrence 
was ill.” 

“Thank you,” said Foster gravely and was silent for 
a time. 

He understood why his comrade called Miss Stephen 
Lucy, although he had not known her very long. She 
had, no doubt, saved his life by hurrying off the rescue 
party and had afterwards taken care of him when he 
was ill. He thought Lawrence lucky, but was not 
justified in congratulating him yet, and had something 
else to think about. Lucy suspected Walters, though 
Lawrence did not, and Foster imagined that she had 
some ground for doing so. She had an object for 
making Lawrence tell his story with full particulars, 
because it must have been painful to recall the matter. 

“We’ll say no more about it now, Miss Stephen,” he 
remarked. “Lawrence and I are old friends, and I’m 
heavily in your debt.” 

Lucy looked up with a smile and blush, and Foster 
understood what she meant when she answered: “I 
hope you will always be his friend.” 


XXV 


FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN 

A FTER dinner the party returned to the veranda, 
which was warm and well lighted. Mrs. Ste¬ 
phen resumed her sewing, Lawrence settled himself 
comfortably in his big chair, and Foster engaged Lucy 
in careless talk. She had a pleasant voice and pretty, 
animated gestures, and after the strain he had borne 
there was a charm in relaxing and lazily enjoying the 
society of an attractive girl. The trouble was that he 
could not be careless long. Lawrence was inclined to 
put off disagreeable things, and would no doubt sooner 
leave disturbing subjects alone; but Foster had only 
kept half his promise to Alice and time that might be 
valuable was being lost. 

“Your adventure made an interesting story, Law¬ 
rence, but you took unusual trouble to make us under¬ 
stand all that happened,” he said at length. 

Lawrence’s gesture hinted at humorous resignation. 
“You’re a restless fellow, Jake, but I hoped you’d wait 
until to-morrow. You see, I’ve been warned to keep 
quiet.” 

Foster looked at Lucy and imagined that he had her 
support; she no doubt knew his comrade’s weakness 
for procrastination. 

“I’ll try not to disturb you much,” he replied. 

“Then you and Lucy insisted on my relating the 
thing at length. I felt I had to indulge you.” 

253 


254 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Lucy’s smile hinted that Foster must be firm. 

"That wasn’t quite enough. You had another mo¬ 
tive.” 

“Oh, well,” said Lawrence, “I suppose I wanted to 
recall the thing and see how it looked in the light of 
what you told me about your exploits in Scotland.” 

“They make it look different, don’t they?” Lucy 
remarked. 

Lawrence gave her a good-humored smile and then 
turned to Foster. “Lucy’s cleverer than I, but I 
really thought she was rather hard on Walters.” He 
paused for a moment, and then resumed thoughtfully: 
“You must remember that my object was to keep out 
of Daly’s way, and I thought I was safe as long as I 
could do so. One would have expected him to play a 
lone hand.” 

“Didn’t you think there was something suspicious 
about Walters’ turning up again after he’d learned 
your name? There then were rather too many coin¬ 
cidences.” 

“Suppose you enumerate them,” Lawrence sug¬ 
gested. 

“He urged you to try the mountains and followed 
you to Banff. Then I’ve no doubt he proposed the trip 
up the glacier, for which he chose the guides. Fie sent 
the best back with Miss Stephen, and while this was 
the proper thing, it’s curious that the other guide got 
drunk. Walters gave him your flask. Then he fell 
when he threw the rope—at the only place where a fall 
would not have led to his shooting down the couloir. 
Afterwards, although speed was urgent, he was very 
slow in going back for help.” 

“Besides, he knew exposure to the frost would be 


FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN 255 

very dangerous for you; you told him you had been 
ill,” Lucy interposed. 

“I did/’ Lawrence agreed. “Of course if the fellow 
had wanted to make an end of me, it’s obvious that he 
took a clever line; but people don’t do that kind of 
thing for nothing. Suppose he was a friend of Daly’s, 
it certainly wouldn’t have suited the latter’s plans.” 

“That,” said Mrs. Stephen, “is what Lucy and I 
thought. You can be frank, Mr. Foster, because we 
know Lawrence’s story.” 

“He was very wise to tell it you,” Foster replied, and 
turned to his partner. “You imagined that Daly only 
wanted to extort money? Well, my explanation is 
that he had another object. We’ll go back to the night 
Fred Hulton was shot. You thought you saw the 
watchman in the passage; was he far in front?” 

“Perhaps a dozen yards; it’s a long passage.” 

“He was going towards the office and stopped at the 
door, with his back to the light?” 

“Yes; if he’d gone in I would have seen his face.” 

“And the remark you made indicated that you 
thought him the watchman ?” 

“Suggested it,” said Lawrence thoughtfully. 
“There might have been a doubt.” 

“Exactly! The man saw you. The light shone out 
from the office behind him.” 

“Yes,” said Lawrence, “I see your point. I don’t 
think the fellow could have been certain I didn’t get a 
glimpse of his face.” 

“You said nothing about the meeting at the inquiry, 
which might look as if you had been warned not to do 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


256 

“Nobody asked a question that led up to it. I didn’t 
learn he wasn’t the watchman until afterwards.” 

Foster turned to the others. “I think my story has 
shown you that we have to deal with a gang of clever 
criminals. You’ll note that Lawrence saw the only 
man who knows the truth about Fred Hulton’s death.” 

Mrs. Stephen made a sign of understanding. Lucy 
shivered, then her eyes sparkled angrily, but Law¬ 
rence looked obstinate. 

“Jake,” he said rather dryly, “you ought to have 
been a barrister! You have made a clever use of the 
evidence, but it has some weak points and leaves room 
for doubt. What are you going to do about it ?” 

“Fm going to start again to-morrow to look for 
Daly,” Foster replied. 

Lucy gave him a grateful glance, and Mrs. Stephen 
began to talk about something else. By and by she 
turned to Lawrence, who looked tired, and reminded 
him that it was past the time at which he ought to go 
to bed. He grumbled a little but went, and soon after¬ 
wards Mrs. Stephen left the others. Foster thought 
the girl wished this, but had not noticed that she gave 
her mother a hint. He felt rather awkward, but there 
was something to be said. 

“I suppose you are going to marry my partner,” he 
remarked. 

“Yes,” she replied, with a pretty flush. “Are you 
surprised?” 

“Fm not surprised that he should wish it. But 
somehow I hadn’t contemplated Lawrence’s marry¬ 
ing.” 

The girl’s color deepened. “Are you very frank, 
or only tactless?” 


FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN 


257 


“I was stupid,” said Foster with some confusion. 
“But I didn’t mean what you think. Far from it! 
My partner has made good. I’m glad you had the 
wisdom and pluck to see this.” 

“He is a very dear fellow,” she answered with a soft 
gleam in her eyes that moved Foster. Then she smiled. 
“You are forgiven—and I must confess that at first 
my mother took the view I thought you hinted at. 
She said Lawrence ought to wait until all risk of the 
past’s being brought to light was gone. But I suppose 
when you guessed the truth it was something of a 
shock?” 

“No,” said Foster. “Although I haven’t known you 
long, I feel that I won’t lose my partner when he mar¬ 
ries you. I was grateful when you said you hoped I 
would always be his friend.” 

Lucy nodded. “I saw you understood. Before we 
met I was rather jealous of you—and curious. I think 
Lawrence sometimes makes mistakes about people.” 

“Walters, for example? Well, I like you to be care¬ 
ful about Lawrence, but hope you don’t feel anxious 
now you have seen me.” 

“He needs a man friend and there’s something about 
you that makes one feel you can be trusted,” said 
Lucy, who gave him a level glance. “You look in¬ 
genuous, but perhaps that’s deceptive, in a way. I 
mean that I didn’t quite understand you until you told 
us about your adventures in Scotland.” 

“Ah!” said Foster, “Carmen once said something 
like that, but she was blunt. She told me I wasn’t 
quite such a fool as I look. However, I haven’t much 
ground for boasting about my exploits. The main 
results were that I got myself suspected by the police, 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


258 

warned off Daly, and made Lawrence’s father think I 
had murdered him. Now I’d much rather look a sim¬ 
pleton than a homicide!” 

Lucy laughed, but her eyes were soft. “We all 
make mistakes, Mr. Foster, but your object was good. 
Besides, I feel that you will carry it out.” 

Foster hesitated for a few moments, studying the 
girl. She had courage and he liked the way she took 
care of his comrade. In some respects, Lawrence 
needed to be guarded. 

“I hoped you would stop when your mother went,” 
he said. 

She nodded. “Yes; I knew you had something to 
say.” 

“It’s important. But first of all, I expect you had 
a bad time when Lawrence didn’t come back from the 
mountain.” 

“I shall not forget it,” Lucy said with a shudder. 
“While I waited and wondered why he didn’t come I 
thought the anxiety intolerable, but it was worse after 
we met Walters and the drunken guide. He wanted 
to join us, but I knew he was somehow to blame.” 

“Afterwards you had to wait alone upon the glacier. 
That wouldn’t make you think any better of him.” 

“It did not,” Lucy agreed, with a hard, fixed look. 
“I—you see, Lawrence was my lover—I spent two or 
three hours in agonizing suspense. I knew what I 
should feel when I stopped, but couldn’t go on with 
the others, because I might have kept them back. It 
was freezing hard and now and then a little snow fell, 
but I scarcely noticed this; I was listening, as I hope 
I shall never listen again. Sometimes the ice cracked 
and a snow-bridge fell into the crevasse, but that was 


FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN 259 

all, and afterwards the silence was awful. It seemed 
as if the men would never come. I couldn’t go to meet 
them because of the crevasse; I dream about the hor¬ 
rible black opening yet. Lawrence was on the other 
side, out of my reach; he might be slowly freezing on 
the couloir, and I couldn’t help. But I knew he was 
suffering for Walters’ negligence or perhaps his treach¬ 
ery.” 

Foster made a sign of sympathetic comprehension. 
“You hate him for this?” 

“Yes,” said Lucy frankly; “but not altogether be¬ 
cause I’m vindictive. The man who could make peo¬ 
ple suffer as Lawrence and I did ought to be punished.” 

“He ought. Well, I’m going to warn Lawrence, 
and no doubt the proper thing would be to be satisfied 
with this, but somehow I’m not. You see, Walters 
probably doesn’t know we suspect him.” 

The girl’s eyes narrowed and Foster knew she was 
afraid, but did not think fear was her strongest emo¬ 
tion. 

“You mean he may try again?” 

“That is what I mean. If he comes back, you must 
watch him, but keep him here until I arrive. If it’s 
impossible for me to come, send for the police.” 

“Yes,” said Lucy quietly, “I’ll try.” 

“There’s another risk,” said Foster. “He may send 
an accomplice; they’re a well-organized gang. In*this 
matter, I’d sooner trust you than Lawrence.” He 
stopped for a moment and gave her an apologetic 
glance. “Perhaps I’ve done wrong to alarm and put 
this heavy load on you.” 

“No,” she said resolutely. “I have promised to 
marry Lawrence and must help him.” 


26 o 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Then she rose and gave Foster her hand. “I must 
thank you for your confidence. If the need comes, I 
don’t think I’ll fail you.” 

Foster felt satisfied when she left him. Lucy was 
clever and had pluck. He had given her a hard part, 
but she would not shrink. One could trust a woman 
who was fighting for her lover. 

After breakfast next morning, Mrs. Stephen showed 
Foster some photographs of the mountains, in one or 
two of which Lucy and Lawrence had a place, and he 
asked: “Have you a portrait of Walters?” 

“No; the man who took these was staying here, 
and one day asked Walters to join the group he was 
posing, but he refused.” 

“How did he get out of it?” 

Lawrence, who had come in with Lucy, laughed. 
“Rather neatly. Said he was a modest sentimentalist 
and would sooner leave his memory printed on our 
hearts!” 

“One must admit that he did something of the kind,” 
Lucy remarked. 

“Will you or Mrs. Stephen describe his looks?” Fos¬ 
ter asked. 

The girl did so and then inquired: “Why didn’t you 
ask Lawrence?” 

“If you want an accurate description of a man, it’s 
better to ask a women. Our classifications are rather 
vague; we say he’s all right, a good sport, or perhaps 
an outsider. You note all his idiosyncrasies, the way 
he talks, the color of his hair-” 

“I suppose we do,” Mrs. Stephen agreed with a 
smile. “You are rather shrewd.” 

“I don’t see why that should surprise my friends, 



FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN 261 

but it sometimes does,” Foster rejoined and went to 
the flag station to ask about the train. 

It stopped for him an hour later and he set off again 
on his search for Daly, which was complicated by the 
need for being on his guard against a man he did not 
know. It looked as if Walters had told Daly that Law¬ 
rence was in British Columbia, and he had come out to 
join his accomplice; but, after all, if Foster did not 
know Walters, the man did not know him. Another 
thought gave him some comfort: Walters had plotted 
against Lawrence because his evidence might be dan¬ 
gerous, but probably knew nothing about Daly’s black¬ 
mailing plan. The latter would, no doubt, consider 
any money he could extort was his private perquisite, 
and might try to protect his victim for a time. 

As the train sped through the mountains Foster felt 
very much at a loss. Indeed, unless luck favored him, 
he thought he might as well give up the search, and 
by and by got off at a mining town. He had no par¬ 
ticular reason for doing so, but. felt that to go on to 
Vancouver would be to leave the place where his last 
clew broke off too far away. 

The town, for the most part, was built of wood, and 
some of the smaller and older houses of logs, with ugly 
square fronts that hid the roof. A high, plank side¬ 
walk ran down the main street, so that foot passengers 
might avoid the mud, but the ruts and holes were now 
hidden by beaten snow. At one end stood a big 
smelter, which filled the place with acrid fumes, and 
the scream of saws rose from sheds beside the river, 
where rusty iron smoke-stacks towered above sawdust 
dumps. The green torrent was partly covered by 
cakes of grinding ice. All round, in marked contrast 


262 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


to the utilitarian ugliness below, dark pines ran up to 
the glittering snowfields on the shoulders of the peaks. 
Foster went to a big new hotel, which he found dirty 
and too hot. Its bare walls were cracked and exuded 
resin; black drops from the central heater pipes stained 
the rotunda floor, which was torn by the spikes on the 
river-Jacks’ boots. An electric elevator made a hor¬ 
rible noise. The supper he got in the big dining-room, 
where an electric organ played, was, however, very 
good, and he afterwards sat rather drearily in the ro¬ 
tunda, watching the men who came in and out through 
the revolving door. 

There is not much domestic life in the new Western 
towns, whose inhabitants, for the most part, live at 
hotels, and the rotundas of the latter are used as a 
lounge by anybody who prefers them to the street. In 
consequence, Foster could not tell who were guests and 
who were not. By and by he filled his pipe, and a man 
who was lighting his held out the match, which Foster 
took with a word of thanks. It might have been a 
trifling politeness, but he thought the other had waited 
until he was ready. 

“You’re a stranger,” the man remarked. 

“Yes,” said Foster, “I’ve just come in.” 

“Looking for business?” 

Foster quietly studied the man. He was neatly 
dressed and looked keen and alert. It was possible 
that he was a storekeeper, or a real estate agent, which 
is a common occupation in a Western town. 

“Well,” he said, “I don’t often let a chance of a 
trade go past, but when you’re in a strange place, the 
trouble is to tell if you’ve got a snap or not.” 


FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN 263 

“Sure thing," agreed the other. “What's your 
line?” 

“Dressed lumber." 

“Then I can’t do much for you, but there's quite a 
lot of new construction planned and the boys will get 
busy as soon as the frost breaks," said the man. 

He went on to talk about the trade of the town and 
province, and on the whole Foster was glad he had 
been in British Columbia before and knew something 
about the country. It was better to be cautious and 
he did not want to show he came from the east. 

By and by another man crossed the floor and picked 
up a newspaper that lay near. As he did so, he gave 
Foster a careless glance, and then went back to the 
seat he had left. This was at some distance from the 
heaters and near the entrance, to which people kept 
passing, but it commanded the spot that Foster and 
his companion occupied. Foster, however, could not 
detect him watching them, and soon afterwards the 
other man went out. 

Nothing happened next day, but Foster stopped and 
in the evening called for Pete, whom he had sent to a 
different hotel, and strolled down the snowy street. 
It was very cold and few people were about. A half¬ 
moon hung above the summit of the range, and the 
climbing pines cut in ragged black masses against the 
snow. After crossing a bridge on the outskirts of the 
town they stopped and looked about. 

A few half-finished houses stood among blackened 
stumps in a cleared belt, where there were rubbish 
heaps and willows were springing up, but a little far¬ 
ther on the forest rose in a shadowy wall. It was quiet 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


264 

except for the roar of the river, and Foster shivered as 
he filled his pipe. 

"It’s a nipping wind. I’d better go down the bank 
a bit before I try to get a light,” he said. 

He pushed through the willows growing beside the 
creek, but dropped his matchbox, and Pete came to help 
him in the search. They found it, but before he could 
strike a match a man stopped at the end of the bridge 
and looked back up the street. Foster, imagining he 
was the fellow who had spoken to him at the hotel, 
touched Pete, and they stood very still. 

The man might have seen them had he glanced their 
way, although the branches broke the outline of their 
figures, but he was looking back, as if he expected 
somebody to come up behind, and after a few moments 
went on again. He crossed the clearing towards a 
fence that seemed to indicate a road following the edge 
of the forest, and vanished into the gloom of the trees. 
Then, as Foster lighted his pipe, another man came 
quickly across the bridge and took the same direction 
as the first. 

“I wunner if yon was what ye might ca’ a coinci¬ 
dence,” Pete said softly. 

“So do I, but don’t see how it concerns us,” Foster 
replied. “I think we’ll take the road straight in front.” 

They followed a track that led through the bush at a 
right angle to the other. The snow was beaten firm as 
if by the passage of logs or sledges, and there were 
broad gaps among the trees, which rose in ragged 
spires, sprinkled with clinging snow. In places, the 
track glittered in the moonlight, but, for the most part, 
one side was marked by a belt of gray shadow. After 
a time, they heard a branch spring back; then there was 


FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN 265 

a crackle of undergrowth, and a man came out of an 
opening ahead. It was the man who had first passed 
them; Foster knew him by his rather short fur coat. 
For no obvious reason and half-instinctively, he drew 
back into the gloom. The man did not see them and 
went on up the track. 

“Yon’s a weel-kent trick in my trade,” Pete re¬ 
marked. “When it’s no>’ convenient to be followed, 
ye send an inquisitive pairson off on anither road. 
But I would like to see if he has got rid o’ the ither 
fellow.” 

They waited some minutes, but nobody else ap¬ 
peared, and Foster surmised that the first man knew 
the ground and the other did not. The fellow had 
vanished among the trees, but after a time they saw 
him again, crossing a belt of moonlight some distance 
in front, and Foster felt he must find out where he was 
going. 

By and by the indistinct figure vanished again, and 
pushing on cautiously through the shadow, they came 
to a clearing at the foot of the range. Steep rocks rose 
above the narrow open space, but although the trail 
went no farther there was nobody about. Standing 
behind a fir trunk, Foster searched the edge of the 
bush, but saw nothing except a ruined shack and some 
ironwork sticking out of the snow. He could not 
examine the shack, because if the other man was near 
he would see him when he left the trees. After waiting 
a few minutes, he touched Pete and they turned back 
silently. 


XXVI 


THE REAL-ESTATE AGENT 

N EXT morning Foster got up in the dark and 
walked briskly down the main street to the 
bridge. Lights were beginning to blink in the houses 
he passed and there was a pungent smell of burning 
wood. In front, the forest rolled upwards in a blurred, 
dark mass, but he could not see the mountains. The 
air was still and felt damp upon his skin, and he knew 
a sudden rise of temperature accounted for the obscur¬ 
ity. The main thing, however, was that there was no¬ 
body to watch him, and he set off along the road he 
had taken on the previous night. 

He had some trouble to keep the trail when he 
plunged in among the trees, but day had broken when 
he reached the clearing, and a faint gray light shone 
through the haze. There was no obvious reason why 
the stranger’s disappearance at the spot should interest 
him, but his suspicions were quickly excited and it 
looked as if the fellow had tried to make his acquaint¬ 
ance in order to learn his business in the town. He had 
come early, hoping to find footprints that might give 
him a hint, but was disappointed. There were a num¬ 
ber of marks, but they had lost their sharpness and he 
could not tell which had been made recently. 

In the meantime, the light was growing and he saw 
that the shack at the foot of the rocks had partly fallen 
266 


THE REAL-ESTATE AGENT 267 

down. Thick wooden beams and props lay beside the 
ironwork he had noticed on his last visit. It was 
obvious that he was looking at a mineral claim that 
had been abandoned after some development work had 
been done, while the trampled snow indicated that 
somebody had been removing the material not long 
since. Passing the heap of rusty iron, from which the 
snow was beginning to shrink, he found a narrow open¬ 
ing in the foot of the hill. This was a test adit, and the 
tilt of the strata indicated that its slope was steep. The 
stone that had been taken out showed that it did not 
penetrate far, and Foster saw no reason for entering. 

He next studied the rocks, and although he saw no 
path, imagined that one could get up that way, but 
could not see why anybody should wish to do so, and 
the snow did not seem to have been disturbed. After 
a minute or two he turned back into the wood with a 
gesture of disappointment. 

The man he had followed had apparently come there 
to meet somebody, but although the mine was con¬ 
veniently near the town it was a cold and cheerless spot 
for a rendezvous. Foster surmised from this that 
secrecy was important, but after all there was nothing 
to indicate that the matter had anything to do with 
him. As he went back he heard a musical humming 
in the tops of the pines and a lump of wet snow, slip¬ 
ping from a branch, struck his face. The humming 
grew louder until the wood was filled with sound, and 
he began to feel clammy and hot. A warm Chinook 
wind from the Pacific was sweeping up the valley, 
driving back the frost. 

When he reached the town the snow was wet and the 
lights were out, but the post office was open, and hav- 


268 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


ing telegraphed his new address, he went in to ask if 
there was any mail for him. A girl was busy behind a 
lettered brass wicket, but did not look up, and Foster 
saw the man in whom he was interested standing 
among some others farther along the counter. The 
fellow came towards him. 

“Been for a walk?” he said. “You get up early.” 

“I’m used to that,” Foster answered with a careless 
smile. “Anyhow, I want my mail, and you enjoy 
breakfast better if you’ve been out first.” 

“Sure thing,” agreed the other. “But you want 
to put on rubber shoes when a Chinook wind strikes 
this town.” 

Then the girl clerk looked up and when Foster in¬ 
quired for letters threw him two. His companion 
asked for his, giving the name of Telford, and she 
indicated the lettering on the wicket. 

“Farther along, where you came from! Can’t you 
read the alphabet ?” 

“I can, now I see it,” said the other good-humoredly 
as he turned back. 

On the whole, Foster was glad he had picked up the 
letters as the girl threw them down. It is customary 
in Western cities for people to call for their mail and 
girl clerks are sometimes curt, but she seemed to think 
it strange that the fellow had come to the wrong 
wicket. If he had had an object for doing so, he had 
learned Foster’s name, but the latter did not think he 
had seen the postmarks or that one letter had an Eng¬ 
lish stamp. Still, he had noted that Foster’s boots 
were wet, which indicated that the latter had gone 
farther than the post office. 

He went out before he opened the envelopes, and 


THE REAL-ESTATE AGENT 269 

then glancing at the letters put them in his pocket 
with a thrill of satisfaction, meaning to read them care¬ 
fully after breakfast. Entering the hotel, he hung up 
his coat and went to the dining-room. He was 
promptly served, and when he went out after finishing 
his meal, saw Telford, who had apparently just re¬ 
turned from the post office, standing in the passage, 
which was rather dark. It looked as if he had been 
hanging up his coat, but he stood near Foster’s, and 
then moved on abruptly as another man came up. 

Foster met them and saw that the last was the man 
whom he had half-suspected of watching Telford on 
the first evening. As he passed, he took the letters 
from his coat, and entering the rotunda sat down and 
lighted his pipe. It was possible that Telford had 
meant to search his pockets, but had been prevented by 
the appearance of the other, and Foster frowned. He 
was feeling the strain of the constant watchfulness and 
getting tired of intrigue. As a matter of fact, he hated 
that kind of thing, and it would be a keen relief when 
he could attend to his proper business and finish with 
the need for caution. In the meantime, he did not 
know if he had found a fresh clew or not. After all, 
he had not much ground for suspecting Telford. 

Then Foster forgot his perplexities as he took out 
the letters. The first was from Lucy Stephen, who 
said that the doctor had visited Lawrence and was 
satisfied with his progress. She added that Foster 
knew Lawrence disliked writing letters, but she wanted 
to reassure him and wish him good luck. The note 
was short, but seemed to put Foster on a footing of in¬ 
timate friendship that he was grateful for, and he 
thought Lucy had written with this object. 


270 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


The other was from Alice Featherstone and his 
heart beat as he studied it. She did not say much; 
they had still no news of Lawrence and her father was 
very restless and anxious, while she feared her mother 
felt the suspense. But she knew Foster would make 
every effort and would not fail them; there was nobody 
else who could help. All she said struck a note of 
quiet confidence. Her faith was unshaken; she trusted 
him. 

Foster thrilled and his weariness and dejection van¬ 
ished. Alice would have got Lawrence’s telegram 
soon after she wrote and she had proof of his honesty 
now. Still, he had only kept half his promise, and 
although he had undertaken a task that needed abilities 
he doubted if he possessed, he meant to keep the other 
half. He was hemmed in by difficulties and might 
make mistakes, but somehow he was going to make 
good. 

For a time he sat in a corner, recalling what Alice 
had said in England and how she had looked. He pic¬ 
tured her standing in the dark-paneled library at the 
Garth, with eyes that sparkled as she spoke in his de¬ 
fense, sitting with a smile in the half-light by the big 
hearth in the hall, and waiting for him in the orchard. 
She moved through all the scenes with the same calm 
grace; even in her anger—and he had seen her angry— 
there was a proud reserve. But Alice stood above all 
other women; there was nobody like her. 

Then he got up with a resolute movement. Dreams 
and memories would not help, and he must get to work. 
To begin with, he would try to find out something 
about Telford, and went to the office, where the clerk 
was unoccupied. As a rule, nobody knows more about 


THE REAL-ESTATE AGENT 271 

everybody else’s business than the clerk of a Western 
hotel. 

“Is there much doing in real estate just now?” he 
asked. 

“There will be soon. The mines are paying well and 
the bosses are planning new developments. Then 
there’s a big scheme for opening up the ranching land 
in the bench country. That means a bigger city. 
Are you looking for building lots?” 

“My line’s dressed lumber, but when you get a 
building boom you want material. I suppose Mr. Tel¬ 
ford does a good trade?” 

“Talks as if he was going to, but he hasn’t begun 
yet,” the clerk replied with a smile that hinted that he 
had expected the inquiry. 

“Then he hasn’t been here long?” 

“Only came into town a week since,” said the clerk, 
rather dryly. “When things look like humming these 
fellows generally do come along. But you want to go 
slow when you deal with a real-estate man, unless you 
know all about him.” 

“Yes,” said Foster thoughtfully, “as a rule, that’s 
true. Thank you, anyhow.” 

He went back to his seat and lighted his pipe again. 
He had learned that Telford was a stranger and had 
apparently thought it advisable to account for his 
visiting the town. Foster saw that he ought to have 
guessed the fellow was not a resident when he asked 
for his mail, because had he been in business in the 
city he would have had his private box at the post of¬ 
fice. Moreover he imagined that the clerk knew he 
really wanted to find out something about Telford, and 
thought him clumsy, but this did not matter. He had 


272 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


been told he had an ingenuous look, which was rather 
an advantage, since it suited the part he meant to play. 
He did not want people to think him clever, but they 
must not suspect that he was pretending to be dull. 
Remembering his mistakes, he smiled as he admitted 
that there was not much danger of this. By and by 
Telford came in and sat down in the next chair. 

“Nothing doing this morning and the street’s all 
mush,” he said. “If you’re not busy, would you like 
a game of pool?” 

Foster agreed. His only business was to find out 
Telford’s, and the man had given him an opportunity. 
The pool room is an institution in Canadian towns, but 
is not, as a rule, much frequented in the morning when 
trade is good. They had no trouble in getting a table 
and began to play for a small stake, which Telford in¬ 
sisted on. Foster did not know much about pool, and 
indeed had seldom had time for games, but he had a 
steady hand and, somewhat to his surprise, won. Tel¬ 
ford, who raised the stake, won the next game, but was 
afterwards beaten. 

In the meantime, Foster had studied his game. The 
man made some clever strokes, but bungled others. 
He was not steady enough, but on the whole Foster 
imagined he meant to let him win. For all that, he did 
not think the other was playing a common trick with 
the object of leading him on. The amount of the stake 
was not large enough for this. 

“Well,” said Telford, “I guess you’re too good for 
me. Suppose we sit down and take a smoke. I’ll play 
you again another day.” 

“What you want to do is to let up on the drinks the 
night before,” remarked a man who was standing by. 


THE REAL-ESTATE AGENT 273 

“If you were as cool and steady as he is, you’d beat 
him easy.” 

“Perhaps that’s so,” said Telford with a good- 
humored laugh and gave Foster a cigar. 

“Are you going to make expenses this trip?” he 
asked. 

“I can’t say yet,” Foster replied. “Anyhow, you 
don’t lose much by taking a look round, and I some¬ 
times go outside my regular line.” 

“Well, if you feel like speculating in building lots, 
I might put you wise.” 

Foster pondered. He knew that gambling on un¬ 
used land was popular in Canada, in spite of taxes 
planned to prevent it, and while there are respectable 
real estate agents, the fringe of the profession is occu¬ 
pied by sharpers who prey upon what is fast becoming 
a national vice. Confiding strangers with money to 
invest are often swindled, and there was an obvious 
motive for Telford’s trying to cultivate his acquaint¬ 
ance. On the whole, however, he did not think the 
fellow meant to victimize him in this way, though he 
was perhaps willing that Foster should suspect him of 
such a plan. If so, it might be better to indulge him. 

“As a rule, I have a use for all the money I’ve got,” 
he remarked. “Still if I could find a lot that was 
bound to go up-” 

The other followed the lead and talked about city 
extension and the development of the neighboring 
land. He seemed to know his subject, and Foster was 
beginning to think his suspicions mistaken when Tel¬ 
ford carelessly interpolated a few adroit questions 
about his usual occupation. The questions were diffi¬ 
cult to answer without telling more than it was advis- 



274 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


able that the other should know, or, what was equally 
to be avoided, showing that Foster was on his guard. 
He was now nearly sure that the fellow was an accom¬ 
plice of Daly’s, and the line he had resolved on would 
be difficult. 

He had to deal with a clever rogue who probably 
knew something about him and meant to find out 
more. In consequence, there was no use in trying to 
pose as an unsophisticated simpleton; he must, so to 
speak, play up to the fellow and persuade him that any 
suspicions he entertained were about the latter’s de¬ 
signs upon his money. With this object, he disputed 
some of Telford’s opinions and presently proved a 
statement of his wrong. 

Telford looked embarrassed and Foster thought he 
did it very well. 

“Perhaps I was putting it a bit too high, but the 
deal ought to turn out a snap if you can wait a while,” 
he said, and laughed. “Anyhow I’ve got to give you 
bedrock facts after the way you caught me out. Say, 
you’re pretty smart!” 

“You’re apt to get stung over a land deal unless 
you’re careful,” Foster modestly replied. 

It was a relief when Telford said they would stop 
talking business and proposed a visit to a bar. Foster 
felt mentally exhausted and thought a drink would 
brace him. He did not see Telford at dinner and kept 
out of his way during the afternoon, but the man came 
into the dining-room when supper was served. The 
room was large and furnished with separate tables, but 
Foster thought he knew the faces of the regular cus¬ 
tomers and noticed that a stranger sat at a table by 
himself. 


THE REAL-ESTATE AGENT 275 

Telford made for this table, which seemed natural, 
since there was most room there, but a few moments 
afterwards the man whom Foster suspected of watch¬ 
ing him left his place. Crossing the floor carelessly, 
but in such a way that a pillar hid his approach, he sat 
down near the other two. Foster admitted that he 
might not have remarked this had he not been sus¬ 
picious and keenly watchful. The thing looked signifi¬ 
cant, particularly when a waitress came across, frown¬ 
ing, with some dishes. The man must have had an 
object for changing his place after he had given his 
order, because in the small Canadian towns waitresses 
deal firmly with troublesome customers. 

Telford did not seem to know the stranger and did 
not speak until the man politely handed him a cruet- 
stand. He did not say much after this, but Foster 
could not see him without leaning forward, because 
some other people sat down between. Still he felt a 
puzzling curiosity about the fellow, and after supper 
went to the rotunda where the man presently sat down 
not far off. He was young and vigorous, but walked 
with a slight limp as if one knee was stiff. His eyes 
were dark and he had a rather engaging smile when 
one of the rest offered him a newspaper. Telford was 
not about, but the other man strolled in. 

Foster’s curiosity got stronger. He could not re¬ 
member having met the man he was studying, but had 
a vague feeling that he ought to know him. The 
strange thing was that he had not expected him to 
limp, but this was perhaps accounted for by his athletic 
figure. After a time, the fellow put down the news¬ 
paper and went off towards the bar, while Foster, who 
found he had run out of tobacco, went to his room. 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


276 

When he got out of the elevator, he saw the other 
going along a passage in front, which he thought curi¬ 
ous, because he could not have stayed more than a few 
moments in the bar. Moreover his limp was not notice¬ 
able now he imagined himself alone. Foster went on 
quietly, keeping his distance, and knitted his brows in 
thoughtful surprise when the other opened a door. 
The man, who did not seem to know Telford, had gone 
into his room. 

When the door shut he heard another step and saw, 
as he had half-expected, the man who had watched 
Telford entering the passage. Foster immediately 
turned his head and went on to his room, where he sat 
down in the nearest chair. Fie had got something of a 
shock, since he now knew why he had studied the fel¬ 
low with the limp. His brain had been unconsciously 
occupied with a description Lucy Stephen had given 
him. The man who had gone into Telford’s room was 
Walters. 


XXVII 


THE MINE 

XXTTIEN Foster was thinking of going to bed Pete, 
* * whom he had not seen all day, came into the 
rotunda, and Foster remarked that his boots were 
very wet. 

“It’s saft ootside an’ Fve been paidlin’ in the snow,” 
he said and, with the poacher’s instinctive caution, 
put his feet out of sight beneath a table. 

“Where have you been in the dark?” Foster asked. 

“I thought I’d maybe better watch the bridge over 
yon bit creek.” 

Foster frowned. It looked as if he had not much tal¬ 
ent for detective work and could only concentrate upon 
one point at a time. While he had been content to 
watch what was going on at the hotel, Pete had 
watched the bridge, and had found out something. 
Foster admitted that such success as he had had was 
rather due to luck than ability. 

“Well,” he said, “what did you see there?” 

“To begin with, the man we followed cam’ doon 
the street and went into a shop; and I allooed they 
might keep something I wanted. He bought a basket.” 

“A basket?” 

“Just that,” said Pete. “One o’ they cheap baskets 
ye put grosseries in when ye gang by train.” 

Foster nodded. On Canadian railways, economical 
277 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


278 

second-class passengers often carry provisions instead 
of using the meal stations. 

“He bought some tinned meat and biscuits/’ Pete 
resumed. “Then some tea and a wee spirit-stove.” 

“There’s no train until to-morrow and I imagine 
the fellow wouldn’t be satisfied with canned meat, so 
long as he could get something better when the cars 
stopped.” 

Pete grinned. “I’m no’ saying he meant to tak’ 
the train. It looked mair like he was going to pic¬ 
nic in the woods.” 

“Ah!” said Foster abruptly. “I suppose you fol¬ 
lowed the man?” 

“Far enough to see him tak’ the road we went. 
Then I cam’ back. Ye see, I kent where he was go- 

• „ a 

in g. 

Foster made a sign of agreement, because it was 
obvious that Telford was going to the shack at the 
mine. He understood how the fellow had got out 
without his seeing him, since it is usual in Canada to 
have a separate entrance to a hotel bar and he had 
stupidly been satisfied with watching the hall. 

“He has gone to meet somebody; but why did he 
take the provisions?” 

“Maybe he wanted to give them to the ither man.” 

“But why should the other need the food?” 

“Weel,” said Pete, “if I was looking for a hidie-hole 
convenient to the town, I’d no’ find much fault with 
yon’ auld mine. Maybe it’s dry, an’ the frost wouldna’ 
get far in.” 

Foster started, for he thought Pete had guessed 
right. He and Lawrence had camped in the open in 
colder weather than was often felt in British Columbia, 


THE MINE 


279 


and as wood was plentiful, there was no reason the man 
should not make a fire after dark, if he could find an 
outlet for the smoke. He must now find out who was 
hiding in the mine, but thought he knew, for vague 
suspicions suddenly got clear. 

To begin with, the fellow who watched Telford at 
the hotel was either a policeman or a private detective 
in Hulton’s pay. Then Foster had lost Daly’s track at 
Banff, which was not very far off, and taking it for 
granted that Telford belonged to the gang, it was 
logical to suppose that he had arranged a meeting with 
Daly and Walters. On arrival Daly had found that 
the town was watched, but was either unable to leave 
it without being followed or detained by his business 
with the others. In consequence, he had taken refuge 
in the mine. 

Foster sent Pete away and smoked another pipe. 
He would have liked to visit the mine at once, but if 
he went, would meet Telford coming back or find him 
when he reached the spot, and he must see Daly alone. 
He ought, of course, to warn the man he thought a 
detective, but did not mean to do so, and this resolve 
brought up a problem he had tried to solve before: 
what could he offer Daly in return for his keeping 
Lawrence’s secret? 

If the fellow had killed Fred Hulton, it was unthink¬ 
able that he should help him to escape. Foster felt 
that he had perhaps, in a sense, already become Daly’s 
accomplice, but meant to save his comrade and keep 
his promise to Alice. He would see Daly in the morn¬ 
ing and decide then what line to take; after all, luck 
might help him again. Then he knocked out his pipe 
and went to bed. 


280 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


After breakfast next morning he called for Pete and 
walked carelessly to the main bridge. He, however, 
took his pistol and when they reached the woods Pete 
cut a heavy stick. Foster did not expect to use force, 
but it was better to be prepared. While Pete was 
trimming his cudgel they heard the heavy snorting of a 
locomotive and a plume of smoke moved across the 
town. Then they saw through an opening in the trees 
the cars roll along the mountain side. The Montreal 
express had stopped on its journey east, but Foster 
was preoccupied and thought nothing of this. 

The snow was very soft when they plodded up the 
path among the trees, but it was not far to the clearing, 
and Foster stopped at its edge. He had met nobody, 
and the woods were silent except for the dying roar of 
the train, which came faintly down the valley. There 
was no smoke, but Daly would put out his fire when it 
got light. Crossing the wet snow noiselessly, he made 
for the shack and when he reached it beckoned to Pete. 

“Stay here for about ten minutes, and then if Fm 
not back, you had better come in,” he said. “If any¬ 
body runs out, don’t let him pass.” 

Pete’s nod showed he understood and Foster, mov¬ 
ing forward quietly, stopped again for a moment at the 
mouth of the adit. Pete had vanished, but could be 
trusted to watch the mine as a terrier watches a rat- 
hole, and Foster knew that if he were attacked and 
overcome his assailant would not escape. A gray sky 
hung over the black tops of the firs and the wet snow 
threw up a curious livid light. It was an unpleasant 
raw morning, and Foster felt half daunted. 

The adit was dark; he was embarking on a rash 
adventure, and wondered with some misgivings what 


THE MINE 


281 

would happen before he came out again. He heard 
nothing, and it was rather curious that he could not 
smell smoke, but bracing himself he stooped and crept 
into the dark hole. 

The floor sloped, following the inclination of the 
strata, and seemed to be strewn with fallen stones, 
but he had put on rubber shoes and made very little 
noise. He did not want to warn Daly that his hiding- 
place had been discovered, until he was near enough 
to explain that he had nothing to do with the police. 
There would not be much danger when the fellow 
knew who he was and that the mine was watched, 
but he wanted to get as close as possible before alarm¬ 
ing him. Daly, no doubt, carried a pistol. 

Stopping for a moment, he raised his head incau¬ 
tiously and smothered an exclamation when he struck 
it against the roof. He could hear water dripping 
somewhere below and the slope felt steep. It was 
nervous work creeping down hill in the dark, and there 
was, perhaps, a risk of his falling into a pit. When he 
dislodged a stone that rattled he held his breath as he 
listened. He heard nothing, and set his lips as he 
overcame an impulse to turn back. If Daly had heard 
the stone, he was probably waiting for him with his 
finger on the trigger. 

For all that, Foster went on, feeling for the rough 
wall, until he struck his foot against a big stone and 
losing his balance staggered and fell. He made a 
noise that echoed through the adit and, worse than 
all, the pistol shot out of his hand. He felt for but 
could not find it, and for a few moments lay still with 
tingling nerves. Daly must have heard him and was, 
no doubt, crouching in the dark, ready to shoot. He 


282 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


tried again to find the pistol, and then with an effort 
pulled himself together. The next move might draw 
a shot, but he must risk that and not lie there helpless. 
Besides, if the fellow missed, he might grapple with 
and disarm him, and he sprang to his feet. 

“Daly!” he called in a voice that he meant to be 
careless but was rather hoarse. “It’s Foster. I want 
to talk about Featherstone.” 

There was no reply. He heard water falling into a 
pool, but except for this the mine was strangely silent, 
and after waiting for a moment he drew back against 
the rock. 

“Pete!” he shouted. 

His voice sounded muffled and he wondered whether 
Pete could hear, but tried to fix his attention on the 
dark in front. It was there that danger might lurk. 
Then he heard Pete stumbling among the stones, and 
presently the man came up, panting with haste. 

“Where’s the lamp?” Foster asked. 

He knew he was going to do a dangerous thing if 
Daly was hiding near, but something must be risked 
and he struck a match. It sputtered, throwing an il¬ 
lusive gleam on the wet rock a yard or two in front, 
and then went out. Foster struck another with a 
hoarse exclamation and touched the wick of a small, 
flat, metal lamp, such as Western miners hook on their 
hats. Candles are not common in Canadian towns 
where water-power makes electric lighting cheap. 
The lamp gave a dim smoky light, and when Foster 
picked up his pistol they waited a few moments, look¬ 
ing eagerly in front. 

A trickle of water fell from a crack in the roof and 
running down the floor of the adit vanished into the 


THE MINE 


283 

gloom. Here and there a ragged projection caught 
the light, but the rest of the tunnel was hidden in 
impenetrable darkness. They went on cautiously, 
though Foster now felt anxious because there was no 
sign of Daly. After a minute or two, the light fell on 
a wall of dry rock with a pool at the bottom, and he 
knew they had reached the end of the adit. Next 
moment he saw there was an opening to one side where 
some ore had been taken out. If Daly was in the 
mine, he was there, and warning Pete with a sign, he 
turned the corner. 

The light showed a small, dry chamber, strewn with 
sharp stones, some of which had been put together 
to make a hearth. Between these lay the ashes of a 
fire; bits of food were scattered about, and a blue 
Hudson’s Bay blanket lay in a corner. Except for this, 
the chamber was empty. Foster savagely clenched his 
fist while Pete stirred the ashes and felt the blanket. 

‘TPs dry an’ the reek o’ a cigar is fresh on it,” he 
said. “Yon fire’s no’ been oot lang. I’m thinking it’s 
a pity we didna’ come last night.” 

Foster sat down and looked about. He was getting 
calm, but felt dull with disappointment. For all that, 
he saw why the mine had been abandoned. There 
was a fault in the strata, where the vein had slipped 
down, but the subsidence had cracked the rock above 
and he imagined that the fissure reached the surface. 
The air was fresh and not very cold; there was water 
close by, and Foster saw no reason why Daly should 
not have found the chamber a comfortable hiding- 
place. Yet he had left it. 

“Can you see the basket you talked about?” he 
asked, giving Pete the lamp. 


284 CARMEN'S MESSENGER 

Pete found it behind some stones and they examined 
it together. 

“Here’s the spirit-stove, some bread, and the can 
of meat,” said Foster. “But I see no biscuits. Can he 
have eaten them?” 

“There were ower mony. He’s ta’en them with 
him.” 

“Well,” said Foster thoughtfully, “I don’t see why 
the other fellow brought him provisions he didn’t 
need.” 

“Maybe something happened since he brought the 
basket,” Pete suggested. 

Foster pondered. It was possible that something 
had happened at the hotel after Telford’s visit that 
had altered the accomplices’ plans, or made it easier 
for Daly to get away; but, if this were so, Telford 
must have gone back to the mine. He might have 
done so, but Foster thought Daly had perhaps not 
taken his confederate altogether into his confidence and 
had changed his plans without warning him. Foster 
could not tell what chance the fellow had of stealing 
away, but as he had left the basket and only taken 
some biscuits, it looked as if he did not expect to go 
very far on foot. 

“We’ll get out and try to find which way he’s gone,” 
he said. 

It was a relief to reach the open air, and they care¬ 
fully studied the sloppy snow. Foster knew something 
about tracking elk and moose, and Pete had a poacher’s 
skill, but the rapid thaw had blurred the footprints 
they found. On the whole, however, Pete imagined 
that Telford had returned to the mine since his visit 
on the previous evening. 


THE MINE 


285 

Then they searched about the foot of the rocks and 
presently found marks that showed where somebody 
had climbed. Getting up, they followed the marks to 
a beaten trail that ran along the hillside from the town 
to a neighboring mine. There was nothing to be learned 
here and Foster went back dejectedly to the hotel. 
Dinner was being served when he arrived, but he did 
not see Walters and felt annoyed when Telford stopped 
him as he was coming out. 

“I haven’t seen you since last night and thought 
we might have had a game,” he said. “Where have 
you been all morning?” 

“I didn’t come here to play pool,” Foster replied. 
“There was something I had to see about.” 

“Then I hope you found business pretty good,” 
Telford remarked with a quiet smile that Foster found 
disturbing. 

He thought the fellow would see him if he went to 
the clerk’s office, and beckoning the bell-boy into a pas¬ 
sage gave him a coin. 

“Do you know if the lame gentleman with the dark 
hair is out?” he asked. 

“He’s certainly out. Left on the Montreal express 
this morning.” 

“You’re quite sure of that?” 

“Yep,” said the lad. “I put his baggage in the 
transfer wagon for the depot.” 

Foster went to the rotunda and sat down to smoke. 
He felt savage, for there was no doubt that he had 
muddled things. Daly had again escaped him, but he 
thought he saw what Walters’ visit meant. Three of 
the gang had met to make some plot, which might 
threaten Lawrence, whom they no doubt thought dan- 


286 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


gerous. It was ominous that Walters had gone east. 
Daly was obviously afraid of arrest, but the others 
seemed to think themselves safe and Telford was stop¬ 
ping at the hotel, although it looked as if he were being 
watched. Foster wondered whether the fellow sus¬ 
pected this. 

Another matter demanded consideration. News of 
what he had done in Newcastle had probably reached 
the gang, and he had a check belonging to a member of 
it in his wallet. If they knew this, which was pos¬ 
sible, he might be in some danger, and taking it for 
granted that the watcher was a detective or acting for 
Hulton, it would simplify things and free him from a 
grave responsibility if he told what he knew. For all 
that, he did not mean to do so. His object was to save 
his comrade’s name. 

In the afternoon he played pool with Telford, who 
carelessly asked him a few clever questions, which 
Foster answered with a misleading frankness that he 
hoped would put the other off the track. In the eve¬ 
ning he read the newspapers and tried to overcome a 
growing anxiety about Lawrence. He ought to follow 
Daly, but did not know where he had gone, and thought 
that if he waited Telford might give him a clew. 

There were no letters for him next morning, but 
soon after breakfast the bell-boy brought him a tele¬ 
gram and he tore open the envelope. The message 
was from Lucy Stephen and read: 

“Mountaineering friend just arrived. Snow dan¬ 
gerous now. Would feel safer if you could join us. 
Come if possible.” 

For a moment or two Foster sat still, with his face 
set. Lucy was guarded, but the mountaineering friend 


THE MINE 


287 

was Walters and she had given him an urgent hint that 
he was needed. Then he picked up a railroad folder 
that lay near and noting the time of Walters’ arrival, 
saw that the telegram had been delayed. After this 
he glanced at his watch and ran out into the street. 

A trail of black smoke moved across the roofs and 
he heard the roll of wheels as the heavy train climbed 
the incline. He had got Lucy’s warning ten minutes 
too late, and could not leave until next day. 


XXVIII 


THE LOG BRIDGE 

/ 

T AWRENCE had gone to his room to rest and 

' Lucy Stephen was sitting alone in the veranda 
when she heard the roar of an east-bound train coming 
up the valley. It stopped, which did not often happen, 
and she put down her book and looked out at the open¬ 
ing in the pines that led to the track. The smoke that 
rose into the clear, cold air began to move, and Lucy 
frowned, because the train had just stopped long 
enough for passengers to alight. Although the hotel 
was generally full in summer, there were then only a 
few other guests, quiet people whose acquaintance she 
had made, and she did not wish Lawrence to be dis¬ 
turbed by new arrivals. He was getting better, but 
not so quickly as she wished. Besides, she had another 
ground for anxiety. 

A man came up the road between the pines. It was 
a relief to see one man instead of a party, but she went 
to the glass front and watched him with keen curiosity. 
He vanished among the trees where the road curved 
and when he came out not far off she set her lips. 
It was Walters and her vague fears were realized, but 
he would not reach the hotel for a few minutes and 
this gave her time to brace herself. 

Ringing a bell, she asked for a telegraph form and 
hurriedly filling it up, said to the waiting lad, “Take 
this down to the office.”* 


288 


THE LOG BRIDGE 


289 

The lad wore a smart uniform and was called a page, 
but he had the pertness that generally marks the bell¬ 
boy in Western hotels. 

“Certainly, miss. But I reckon Til be wanted when 
the stranger who’s coming up the road gets here. 
Guess it will be all right if I take your message when 
he’s fixed.” 

Lucy, who scarcely heard, sent the page away. Wal¬ 
ters would arrive in a minute or two, and now she had 
warned Foster she thought she had better not avoid 
him. If she hid her distrust, she might find out some¬ 
thing, and she would sooner he saw her before he met 
Lawrence. There was nobody else in the veranda just 
then. Walters came in with a smile that somehow in¬ 
tensified her antagonism, but she waited calmly, al¬ 
though she did not give him her hand. 

“It looks as if you were rather surprised to see me,” 
he remarked. 

“I am,” said Lucy. “Perhaps that’s not unnat¬ 
ural!” 

He laughed and since she did not suggest his sitting 
down, remained standing in a rather graceful pose. 
She meant to hide her real feelings if she could, but as 
she had been angry when he left it was better that he 
should think her angry now. A marked change in her 
attitude would be illogical and might excite suspicion. 

“I suppose that means you blame me for Lawrence’s 
illness and haven’t forgiven me yet?” he suggested. 

“I do blame you. You let the guide get drunk and 
left Lawrence on the couloir. Then you were a long 
time coming back, when you knew the danger he was 
in.” 

“Well,” said Walters in an apologetic tone, “I sup- 


290 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


pose all this is true, but I must point out that when we 
slipped down the gully it was impossible to get up 
again. Then there were some big crevasses in the gla¬ 
cier and I had a half-drunk man to help across; I 
really didn’t know he would drink too much when I 
gave him the flask. However, although perhaps I was 
rather careless, I hope you won’t forbid my seeing 
Lawrence.” 

“I couldn’t forbid your seeing him, as you must 
know.” 

“You couldn’t, in a sense,” Walters agreed. “Still, 
of course, your wishes go a long way with him, and I 
imagine he is what one might call amenable.” 

“I don’t understand that.” 

Walters smiled. “I always found Lawrence good- 
humored and it would surprise me if he did anything 
you didn’t like. I don’t know that I can go farther 
without venturing on an open compliment. But I’m 
anxious to know how he is.” 

“He is getting better, but must be kept quiet for 
some time. But why did you come here?” 

“It ought to be obvious,” Walters replied in a tone 
of mild protest. “You blame me for my friend’s 
illness, and though I don’t know what I left undone, I 
am, in a sense, responsible; anyway, I was with him. 
Well, I found I had to go east, and determined to put 
off my business for a day or two so I could stop over 
and see how he is getting on.” 

“You may see him. But you must remember that 
he isn’t strong and needs quietness.” 

“I’ll be very careful,” Walters said wifh a grateful 
look. “May I take it that your consent is a sign that 
you’ll try to forgive me for my share in the accident?” 


THE LOG BRIDGE 


291 

Lucy forced a smile. “We’ll see how you keep your 
promise.’’ 

She sat down, feeling rather limp, when he left her. 
He had, on the surface, taken a very proper line, and 
his excuse for coming was plausible, but she knew that 
it was false. The man had meant to leave her lover 
to freeze among the rocks and was horribly clever. 
It was hard to preserve her calm when she hated and 
feared him, and although she thought she had not 
acted badly, the interview had been trying. Besides, 
Lawrence was generous and not very discriminating. 
Walters might find a way of disarming the suspicions 
Foster had roused. 

When the page showed Walters to his room, he said 
to the lad, “I want somebody to go to the station for 
my bag. Have they a telegraph office?” 

“Yep; I’m going down to send a wire. Office isn’t 
open long. Agent quits as soon as the east-bound 
freight comes through.” 

“I suppose the wire’s from Miss Stephen?” 

The page nodded and Walters gave him twenty-five 
cents. “Well, if you can wait a little, I’ll have a 
message to send; it will save you a journey.” 

The boy hesitated; but the money banished his 
doubts. “All right; you’d better get it written. The 
freight’s nearly due.” 

Walters went to Lawrence’s room before he wrote 
the telegram, and met Lucy again at dinner. There 
were only two tables in use in the large dining-room, 
and the waiter sent him to Mrs. Stephen’s. Lucy won¬ 
dered whether Walters had arranged this with the man 
beforehand, but it gave her an opportunity of watch¬ 
ing him and she did not object. She admitted that he 


292 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


had nerve and tact, for although she feared him and 
her mother shared her distrust, he was able to banish 
the constraint both felt and amuse the party. Lucy 
could not tell what Lawrence thought, but he laughed 
at the other’s stories and now and then bantered him. 

After dinner Walters left them and when they went 
to Mrs. Stephen’s sitting-room Lucy remarked rather 
sharply: “You seemed to find Walters amusing!” 

“He is amusing,” Lawrence answered. “In fact, 
the fellow puzzles me.” 

“You mean he couldn’t talk in that good-humored, 
witty way if he had plotted to leave you on the cou¬ 
loir r 

“Well,” said Lawrence, “I suppose I did feel some¬ 
thing of the kind.” 

“I don’t know that it’s very logical,” Lucy rejoined, 
hiding her alarm. “You agreed with Foster’s conclu¬ 
sions when he was here.” 

“I did, to some extent. The way Jake argued out 
the matter made things look pretty bad.” 

“But they look better now? Walters was talking 
to you in your room?” 

“He didn’t say much about our climb; just a word 
or two of regret for his carelessness in not seeing what 
had happened to the guide.” 

“Words that were very carefully chosen, no doubt!” 

“Well,” said Lawrence, “I’m frankly puzzled; the 
more I think about our adventure, the harder it is to 
decide how much one could hold Walters accountable 
for. It was difficult to throw me up the rope without 
slipping, and there was only a small, projecting rock, 
on which he might have broken his bones, to prevent 


THE LOG BRIDGE 


293 

his tobogganing to the bottom. If he had slid past it, 
he would have been killed.” 

“Walters wouldn’t hesitate about a risk. It might 
have looked like an accident if you hadn’t heard Fos¬ 
ter’s story.” 

Lawrence knitted his brows, rather impatiently. 
“After all, Jake’s a romantic fellow, and his explana¬ 
tion’s theatrical.” 

“You don’t like theatrical things,” Mrs. Stephen 
interposed. “You must admit that they happen, but 
you feel it’s ridiculous that they should happen to 
you.” 

“I imagine I do feel that,” Lawrence agreed with a 
smile. “When they happen to somebody else they’re 
not so unnatural.” 

Lucy tried to preserve her self-control, but her tone 
was sharp as she said, “Then you feel inclined to for¬ 
give Walters the pain and illness he caused you.” 

“It would be harder to forgive him your anxiety,” 
Lawrence rejoined, and his face set hard. “In fact, 
if I knew he really had plotted the thing—•—” He 
paused and resumed: “One would be justified in kill¬ 
ing a brute who could do what you imagine, but there’s 
a difference between hating a crime and punishing the 
man accused of it before you have proved his guilt. 
In the meantime, I’m trying to keep an open mind.” 

“But you will be careful and not trust him far,” 
Lucy urged. 

“I’ll run no risks; I’ve some ground for being cau¬ 
tious.” 

Lucy said no more. Lawrence was not well yet and 
sometimes got obstinate if one argued with him. She 
thought he would be prudent, but it was comforting 



294 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


to remember that she had telegraphed for his comrade. 
Unfortunately, she did not know that her message was 
then in the page’s pocket. He had waited some time 
for Walters’ telegram, and when he reached the station 
found the agent gone. In consequence, fearing a rep¬ 
rimand, he resolved to send the messages in the morn¬ 
ing and say nothing about the matter. 

The next day was clear and calm, with bright sun¬ 
shine on the snow, and Mrs. Stephen agreed when 
Lawrence insisted on going for a short walk with her 
and some of the guests. Walters joined the party, 
although Lucy tried to leave him behind, and they 
leisurely climbed a winding path among the pines. 
The snow was thin and crisp beneath the trees, the air 
exhilarating, and through openings they caught 
glimpses of fissured glaciers, rocks that glistened in the 
steely light, and majestic glittering peaks. The pines 
were straight and tall, and the great soft-colored 
trunks rose in long climbing ranks against the blue 
shadow on the snow. 

They stopped for a few .minutes at the foot of a 
crag, and then Lawrence, who had been sitting rather 
slackly on a log, got up with a shiver. 

“The air’s keen,” he said. “Can’t we go back an¬ 
other way where we’ll get the sun ?” 

One of the party said there was a lower and more 
open trail, and they went down until they reached a 
narrow track that followed the edge of a steep fall to 
the river. The hillside above made a sharp angle with 
the pines that cut, in scattered cones of somber green, 
against the long, glittering slope. Below, the ground 
dropped nearly sheer to the green flood that roared 
among the ice. Although the trail was safe enough, 


THE LOG BRIDGE 


295 

Lucy kept close to Lawrence and was glad to see Wal¬ 
ters talking to one of the others some distance be¬ 
hind. She felt jaded, for she had not relaxed her 
watchfulness since the man arrived. By and by Law¬ 
rence gave her a grateful smile. 

“You look tired; I expect I’m something of a re¬ 
sponsibility. If you like, I’ll make an excuse for 
stopping in until Walters goes.” 

“No,” she said with an effort, “that would be cow¬ 
ardly and not good for you. After all, I may be giving 
my imagination rein; but I wish he hadn’t come.” 

“He won’t be here long. Anyhow, we’ll keep out 
of his way as much as we can for the rest of the 
time.” 

“That’s a relief. Still, I expect you really think 
you are indulging me.” 

“I don’t know what to think,” Lawrence replied. 
“You’re clever, and Jake, who takes your view, is not 
a fool. But it doesn’t look as if Walters meant to do 
me much harm.” 

“He can’t, so long as you don’t give him an oppor¬ 
tunity.” 

Lawrence’s eyes twinkled. “And you’ll take care 
that I don’t? Well, it’s rather nice to be protected.” 

Lucy blushed. “If you would take things seriously 
sometimes-” 

“If I did, you’d find me dull. Now I like you exactly 
as you are, except that, in one way, I’d sooner you were 
not so anxious about me. That’s partly why I’m not 
so serious as you expect. I’m afraid you’d get worse 
if I played up to you.” 

“Never mind me,” said Lucy. “Only take care!” 

By and by the slope grew gentler, and tall forest 



CARMEN'S MESSENGER 


296 

crept up the hill when they came to a ravine a torrent 
had worn out of the mountain side. The ravine was 
narrow and for a short distance below the top the 
banks shelved steeply; then a wall of rock fell straight 
to the water that brawled in the bottom of the deep 
gap. The light was dim down there, but one could 
see livid flashes of foam through a haze of spray. The 
trail had been made by lumbermen or prospectors, 
who had provided a bridge by chopping a big fir so that 
it fell across the chasm. Somebody had made the 
passage easier by roughly squaring its upper surface, 
though it is seldom a Canadian bushman takes this 
precaution with his primitive bridge. There was no 
reason anybody with normal nerve should hesitate to 
cross, but the party stopped. 

“You have gone farther than usual to-day, Feather^ 
stone, and perhaps you’d sooner cut out the bridge,” 
said one. “I think we could get round the head of 
the canon without lengthening the distance much.” 

Lawrence smiled. “My object is to keep on going 
farther than I did before, and I don’t see why the log 
should bother me. It’s my legs that are weak—not my 
head.” 

“Very well,” said the other. “I’ll go first and Miss 
Chisholm will come next.” 

“Am I to be* encouraged or shamed into crossing?” 
Lawrence asked with a laugh. 

He let them go, and Lucy did not object. Lawrence 
was not well yet, but she had seen him climb 
among the crevasses and knew his steadiness. Then, 
although she did not know how much this counted, 
she was proud of his courage and forgot that physical 


THE LOG BRIDGE 


297 

weakness sometimes affects one’s nerve. Walters could 
not harm him, because he was not near enough. 

When the first two had gone over, Lawrence walked 
out upon the log. Lucy was not afraid, but she 
watched and remarked that he seemed unusually care¬ 
ful. After a few paces, he moved slowly, and when 
near the middle stopped. She saw him clench his 
hands as he tried to brace himself. 

“Go on, Lawrence,” she said, as quietly as she 
could. 

He moved another pace or two uncertainly, and then 
stopped again, and Lucy struggled with her terror as 
she tried to think. If he were well, it would not be 
difficult to turn and come back, or sit upon the log, but 
either would be dangerous if his nerve had gone. She 
had failed to rouse him and durst not try again. If 
he slipped or stumbled, he would plunge into the 
canon. It was horrible to reflect that she had allowed 
him to make the venture. Then, throwing off the 
numbing fear, she sprang to her feet. 

“Stand quite still; I’m coming to help you,” she 
said in a strained voice and went towards the log. 

Next moment she was seized from behind, and 
Walters ran past. She struggled fiercely, biting her 
lips as she stopped the scream that might startle her 
lover, and heard the man who held her breathing hard. 
But he held her firmly and she stopped struggling, 
with a paralyzing horror that made her muscles limp. 
Still, she could see and think, and the scene fixed itself 
upon her brain like a photograph; long afterwards she 
could remember each minute detail. 

The log occupied the foreground of the picture, run- 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


298 

ning boldly across the gap in the pines, with a shadowy 
gulf beneath. Near the middle, Lawrence stood 
slackly, with his back to her, and behind him Walters 
walked across the trunk. His step was firm and agile, 
his figure well-proportioned and athletic, and it was 
somehow obvious that he relished the opportunity of 
showing his powers. Afterwards, she hated him for 
his vanity. 

It was plain that little physical help could be given. 
All that was possible was moral support; a firm, guid¬ 
ing grasp that would restore the shaken man’s confi¬ 
dence, and the comfort of feeling there was somebody 
near who was not afraid. But a very slight push the 
wrong way, or even an unsteadiness in the hand that 
should have guided, might be fatal. Lawrence was at 
the mercy of a man who had plotted to destroy him 
and could do so now without risk. Lucy could not 
warn him, because if he were startled, he would fall. 
Waiting in an agony of suspense, she saw Walters 
grasp his shoulder. 

“Steady, partner; we’ll soon be across,” he said in 
a quiet, reassuring voice, and Lawrence’s slack pose 
stiffened, as if he had gathered confidence. 

Lucy thought he did not know who had spoken, but 
the horrible tension did not slacken yet, though Law¬ 
rence began to move forward. Walters came close 
behind, rather guiding than supporting him, and in a 
few moments they stepped down on the other side. 
Then Lucy gasped and logs and pines got blurred and 
indistinct. She conquered the faintness and went reso¬ 
lutely towards the log. 

“Wait and let me help you,” somebody said. 


THE LOG BRIDGE 299 

“No,” she answered in a strained voice; “I’m quite 
steady.” 

She crossed the log without a tremor and running 
to where Lawrence sat put her arm round him. Law¬ 
rence said nothing, but took and held her hand. 


XXIX 


FOSTER ARRIVES 

W HEN Lucy looked up, the others had gathered 
round and Walters smiled sympathetically. 

“Are you better ?” he asked Lawrence. 

“Yes; we’ll go on in a minute. I don’t know what 
was the matter; felt dizzy and couldn’t keep my bal¬ 
ance. Think I needed a rest.” 

“The thing’s obvious,” Walters agreed. “After see¬ 
ing you on the glaciers, I reckon your nerve’s all 
right, but you’re not well yet and we brought you up 
the last hill too fast. The exertion disturbed the 
beating of your heart and a few drops too much blood 
sent to the brain makes a big difference. That’s what 
happened; it’s our fault.” 

Lucy was grateful for the explanation, and thought 
it correct, but she noted with some concern that Law¬ 
rence did not show the embarrassment she had ex¬ 
pected, which indicated that he had not recovered yet. 
In the meantime, Walters gave her a look of ironical 
amusement. She could not resent this and it seemed 
ridiculous to doubt him, but she did. 

“Thank you; you were very quick and cool,” she 
said with an effort. 

Walters tactfully bowed his acknowledgment, as if 
he did not want to press his claim on her gratitude, 
and Lucy turned to one of the others. 

300 


FOSTER ARRIVES 


301 


“Was it you who held me back?” she asked, and 
when the man nodded, resumed: “Of course, you 
were right. I might have startled him and we would 
both have fallen.” 

“That’s what I was afraid of. Anyhow, Mr. Wal¬ 
ters deserves your thanks most. He saw what was 
needed and did it smartly.” 

Then Lawrence got up, with some color in his face, 
and gave Walters his hand. “I expect I would have 
fallen if you hadn’t come along,” he said and turned 
to the rest. “I feel I must apologize for frightening 
you. My best excuse is that I wasn’t as fit as I 
thought.” 

They urged him to rest and one offered to run to 
the hotel for brandy, but he declared he was able to 
go on, and they tactfully began to talk about some¬ 
thing else and after a few minutes let him drop behind. 
He was grateful and went slowly, with his hand on 
Lucy’s arm. Sometimes he pressed it gently and she 
gave him a tender look, but said nothing. She could 
not talk; her relief was too great. When they reached 
the hotel Lawrence went to his room, and soon after¬ 
wards Lucy met Walters on the veranda. 

“I hope Lawrence is not much the worse,” he said. 

Lucy remembered the part she had taken and re¬ 
solved to play it out. 

“I expect he will be as well as usual after a rest. 
You took a very generous revenge.” 

Walters laughed. “After all, I was only a little 
quicker than the rest and really ran no risk. I was 
behind him and he couldn’t get hold of me. In fact, 
I don’t know that I’d have had grit enough to stick 
to him if he had slipped.” 


302 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


He left her and Lucy could find no’ fault with his 
reply, which she admitted was frank and modest. For 
all that, her distrust had not been banished, and when, 
after a time, Lawrence came down, she said, “I sup¬ 
pose you’re now satisfied that it wasn’t Walters’ fault 
you were left on the couloir?” 

“Aren’t you?” Lawrence asked with some surprise. 

“No,” said Lucy firmly. “I’m not quite satisfied. 
You see, there were a number of accidents, all leading 
to one result. Coincidences of that kind don’t happen 
unless somebody arranges them.” 

Lawrence laughed. “Then they’re not coincidences. 
Do you still hold Walters accountable for the acci¬ 
dents?” 

“If he was accountable, they wouldn’t be accidents,” 
Lucy rejoined with some color in her face. 

“A fair retort! But let’s be serious. I’m not sure 
I’d have fallen off the log if I’d been left alone, but 
it’s very possible. Walters’ help was useful, whether 
he saved my life or not, and you can’t deny that he 
meant to save it.” 

“No; I think he meant to save you. Did you know 
who it was when he touched you ?” 

“I did. Remembering Jake’s theory, I saw it was 
possible he had come to push me off, but I knew he 
hadn’t. That’s why I gave him my hand afterwards.” 

“Ah!” said Lucy. “I was sorry when you did 
that, because I knew what it meant.” 

Lawrence looked at her deprecatingly. “I don’t 
like you to be prejudiced, dear, even on my account. 
I can do nothing that might injure Walters now and 
can’t treat him with suspicion; but he’s going soon 
and, if it’s any comfort, I won’t leave the hotel grounds 


FOSTER ARRIVES 


303 

for the next day or two. Anyhow I’ve rather overdone 
things lately/’ 

“Thank you for the promise,” Lucy said, and was 
glad when her mother joined them, for she felt baffled 
and wanted to think. 

She hated Walters with a half-instinctive hatred that 
reflection showed her was justified; but beyond the 
concession he had made Lawrence would not be moved. 
On the surface, so to speak, he was logical and she was 
not. She was sure Walters had plotted to leave him 
on the couloir , although she admitted that he had 
meant to save his life when he turned dizzy upon the 
trunk. It was possible that he had yielded to sudden 
generous emotion, but she did not accept the explana¬ 
tion. The fellow was cold-blooded and calculating; she 
thought he had deliberately let his opportunity pass, 
because, after this, nobody would believe him guilty 
if he found another. But he must not find an oppor¬ 
tunity, and it was a keen relief to know that Foster 
would soon arrive. She had not told Lawrence yet; 
it might be better to let Foster make an excuse for 
his visit. 

When it began to get dark, she stood near the glass 
front of the veranda and glanced at her watch. She 
could see for some distance down the valley and knew 
that the smoke of a locomotive would spread in a dark 
cloud across the tops of the pines. The train was late, 
but there was no smoke yet. It was a long climb 
from sea-level at Vancouver Inlet and in winter the 
line was sometimes blocked. There was no obvious 
ground for alarm, but somehow she was worse afraid 
of Walters than before. 

The massed pines gradually faded to a formless 


304 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


blur on the cold blue-gray slopes of snow. There was 
no sound from the valley by the roar of the river, and 
by and by a servant turned on the lamps. Lucy could 
now see nothing outside and shivered as she looked at 
her watch. She hoped no accident had delayed the 
train. 

In the meantime, Lawrence, who was sitting near 
her mother, had picked up a book, but put it down 
when Walters came in, and Lucy felt a curious tremor 
of repugnance as she glanced at him. It was a shrink¬ 
ing she sometimes experienced at the sight of a noxious 
insect. Yet there was nothing about Walters to excite 
aversion. He was rather a handsome man, and stood 
in a careless pose, smiling at the group. 

“The trouble about a pleasant time is that it comes 
to an end, and I’ll have to pull out to-morrow,” he 
said. “When are you going to give me the photo¬ 
graphs you promised, Lawrence?” 

“I’ll get them now and you can choose which you 
like. They’re in my room.” 

“I want one with Miss Stephen in it as well as 
yourself,” Walters replied. “It will be something to 
remind me of our climbs.” 

“Send the boy for the packet,” Lucy interposed. 

“I think the drawer’s locked; anyhow I don’t want 
the boy to upset my things,” Lawrence objected. 

“Then I’ll go with you,” said Walters. “It will 
save you taking the packet back and you can get ready 
for dinner while you are upstairs.” 

Lawrence got up. “Very well; we’ll go now.” 

“Take the elevator, even if you have to wait,” 
Lucy said as they went to the door. 

Lawrence had chosen a room at the top of the build- 


FOSTER ARRIVES 


305 

mg because the view was good and it got the sun early 
in the morning, but now and then walked up the stairs 
to see how fast he was recovering his strength. After 
a minute or two, Lucy heard the elevator start and its 
harsh rumble jarred her nerves. The electric lifts they 
use in Canada seldom run silently, and the elevator 
had not been working well. Lucy was annoyed that 
the sound disturbed her, and imagined she had not 
recovered from the shock she got during their walk. 
She was nervous and admitted that she did not like 
Lawrence to be out of her sight when Walters was with 
him. She tried to persuade herself that this was fool¬ 
ish, but could not banish her uneasiness. Then Mrs. 
Stephen looked up. 

“There’s the train; I didn’t hear it stop.” 

Lucy listened. She had forgotten the train for the 
last few minutes, and it seemed to be going fast. The 
sharp snorting of the mountain engine and rhythmic 
clang of wheels seemed to indicate that its long climb 
had not been interrupted. The Montreal express did 
not stop at the flag station unless the conductor was 
warned. She felt daunted as she realized that Foster 
might not have come, and she had not told her mother 
she had telegraphed for him. 

A few minutes later she heard steps outside; then 
the door opened, and she felt a thrill of satisfaction as 
Foster came in with Pete. He looked grave and rather 
hot, as if he had been walking fast, but it was strangely 
comforting to see him. Besides, she liked his big 
companion, who waited with Scottish calm. 

Foster bowed to Mrs. Stephen and then turned to 
Lucy. 

“Is Lawrence all right ?” 


3 o6 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

“Yes. He overtired himself this morning, but is 
better now.” 

Foster looked relieved. “Is Walters here?” 

“He goes to-morrow.” 

“Ah!” said Foster, as if he thought this important. 
“I should have arrived yesterday if your message had 
come earlier. 1 got it just after the train started in 
the morning.” 

Mrs. Stephen looked at her daughter, but Lucy of¬ 
fered no explanation. Foster’s abruptness disturbed 
her. He obviously wanted to understand the situation, 
but seemed to think he had no time to lose. 

“I sent the telegram half an hour before the office 
closed and as the agent goes early you ought to have 
got it in the evening,” she said. 

“Then it must have been kept back. Where’s Law¬ 
rence now?” 

“He went to his room with Walters about ten min¬ 
utes since.” 

Foster beckoned Pete. “Then I’ll go straight up; 
I know the number.” 

They went out and Lucy sat down, feeling disturbed 
but somewhat comforted. It was plain that Foster 
shared her fears and knew more than she did, but in 
another minute or two he would join his comrade, and 
Lawrence would be safe when he was there. 

In the meantime, Walters lighted a cigarette Law¬ 
rence gave him in his room and sat down to examine 
the photographs. There were a number of views of 
the mountains and a group of figures occupied the fore¬ 
ground of several. A guest at the hotel with some 
talent for photography had taken the pictures, and 


FOSTER ARRIVES 


307 

after a time Walters picked out two in which Lucy 
and Lawrence appeared. 

‘Til take these, if I’m not robbing you,” he said 
and waited until Lawrence put on a Tuxedo jacket, 
when he resumed: “Well, I suppose we had better 
go down. Are you coming?” 

He went out and as Lawrence crossed the floor to 
turn off the light, called back: “I forgot the pictures; 
they’re on the bureau. The elevator’s coming up and 
I’ll keep it when it’s here.” 

Lawrence told him to do so. The lift had stopped 
between the floors on their ascent, and the electric 
light inside it had gone out, while the boy said some¬ 
thing about his not being able to run it much longer. 
The photographs, however, were not on the bureau 
and Lawrence searched the room before he found them 
on the bed. Then he turned off the light and went into 
the passage, which was rather dark. The lamp at the 
shaft was not burning, but he could see Walters beck¬ 
oning at the gate. 

“He wants to get down before the motor stops,” the 
latter said. 

Lawrence hurried along the passage, and when he 
reached the shaft Walters put his hand on the folding 
ironwork. 

“Come along; his light’s out,” he said to Lawrence, 
and added, as if to somebody in the lift: “Start her 
off! I’ll shut the gate.” 

Lawrence stepped forward and then clutched the 
ironwork as his advanced foot went down into empty 
space. Instead of the floor of the lift, there was a 
dark gap beneath him, and he knew he had come very 
near to plunging down the shaft. He hung over it, 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


308 

with one foot on the edge and his hand on an iron bar, 
and looked at the black hole with horror as he braced 
himself for the effort to swing his body back. There 
was some strain upon his right arm, because his right 
knee was bent and his other leg dangled over the shaft. 
His hold on the ironwork had saved him and he must 
use it to regain the passage. 

Next moment a hand fastened on his wrist and he 
thought Walters had come to his help. But the fel¬ 
low was stupid; he ought to have seized his shoulder. 
Then the sweat ran down his face as he guessed the 
truth. Walters had not come to help; he meant to 
throw him down the shaft. 

He set his teeth and felt the veins on his forehead 
swell with the effort he made. He was in horrible 
danger and must fight for his life. Walters was try¬ 
ing to pull his hand off the bar, but he resolved that if 
the fellow succeeded, he should go down the shaft with 
him. But although his situation was desperate, he did 
not mean to fall. 

Then Walters’ fingers slipped away, and something* 
jarred Lawrence’s knuckles as he got a firmer hold. 
The brute had struck him with a pistol butt and the 
pain was sharp, but he did not let go. Though his 
muscles were hadly strained and his brain struggled 
with numbing horror, he could think. Walters could 
have made him loose his grasp had he used his knife, 
but the thing must look like an accident and there 
must be no cut to show. The fellow had set a cunning 
trap for him, but he might escape yet. 

Then he thought he heard steps, but his hearing was 
dull, for there was a sound like bells in his ears and the 
hand fastened on his wrist again. He arched his back 


FOSTER ARRIVES 


309 


to ease the strain on his arm and wondered vaguely 
how long he could hold on. Afterwards, he calculated 
that he had hung over the shaft for about a minute. 

Suddenly his antagonist’s grasp slackened and his 
hand was loose. There were running steps; somebody 
seized his arm and pulled him strongly back. As he 
staggered across the passage he heard a heavy blow. 
Walters, reeling past, struck the wall and leaned 
against it with blood on his white face. He put his 
hand into his pocket, but a man sprang forward and 
grappled with him. 

They lurched away from the wall and fell down the 
stairs. Another man ran down after them, and Law¬ 
rence, who felt very limp, followed awkwardly. There 
were lights on the next landing and he saw the strug¬ 
gling men strike the banisters and stop. One had his 
hand loose and held a pistol; his tense, savage face 
was uppermost. The man who had gone down after 
them stooped and struck him with his fist. The strug¬ 
gle stopped, and Lawrence sat down on the steps and 
tried to pull himself together. He knew now how 
his illness had weakened him. 

Then Foster came up the stairs, very hot and breath¬ 
less, with his jacket torn, and stopping beside Law¬ 
rence, forced a smile. 

“It’s lucky I got here when I did,” he said. “The 
brute yonder stopped me coming yesterday.” 

Foster did not remember his reply, but he got up 
and went down to where Walters lay unconscious. 
As he reached the spot the hotel manager and a waiter 
arrived. 

“What’s the matter? Is he dead?” the manager 
asked. 


3 io 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“1 don’t know,” said Foster coolly. “It will save 
the police some trouble if he is.” 

“But I want to know what’s happened.” 

Foster indicated a pistol lying on the steps. “That’s 
his; he tried to use it. I’ll tell you about the thing 
later. In the meantime, you can take him to his room 
and telegraph for the police.” He paused and beck¬ 
oned Pete. “Go with them and don’t lose sight of him 
until I come. He’ll probably come round soon.” 

“Weel,” said Pete dryly, “I’m thinking he’ll no' 
be verra sensible for a while yet, but I’ll see he doesna’ 
get away.” 

He and the waiter picked up Walters, and Foster 
turned to Lawrence. 

“Now I’d better wash and straighten myself up. 
Perhaps you can lend me a jacket.” 

Lawrence laughed, a rather strained laugh. “Cer¬ 
tainly; come along. You’re a curious combination, 
partner. I’ve called you romantic, but you’re not a 
sentimentalist when you get into action.” 


XXX 


RUN DOWN 

Tj'OSTER did not know what Lawrence told Lucy, 
A because he was occupied for some time in his 
room. His lip was cut, his face was bruised, and 
there was a lump on his head where he had struck the 
steps. After he had attended to the injuries and 
frowned at his reflection in the glass, he rang the bell, 
and asking for some paper took out his fountain pen. 
It was not easy to write, but there was something to be 
done that had better not be put off. He knew now 
what the gang was capable of, and meant to leave a 
record, in case an accident of the kind to which his 
comrade had nearly fallen a victim happened to him. 
Moreover, it might be a safeguard to let his antagonists 
know that they could not destroy his evidence if they 
took his life. 

He related his adventures in Scotland, his pursuit 
of Daly, and his surmises about the gang, and then 
going down, asked the hotel clerk to witness his signa¬ 
ture and put the document in the safe. After this, he 
went to the veranda, where Lucy came to meet him 
with shining eyes. 

“Jake,” she said with emotion, “I felt we would be 
safe as soon as you arrived. If you knew how I 
listened for the train and longed for your step! But 
the wretch has hurt you; your face is bruised and cut.” 
311 


312 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Foster felt embarrassed, but laughed. “My face 
will soon recover its usual charm, and if it’s any com¬ 
fort, the other fellow looks, and no doubt feels, much 
worse.” Then he turned to Lawrence, who sat near. 
“You have evidently been telling Miss Stephen a 
highly-colored tale.” 

“Lucy!” she corrected him. “I’m not going to call 
you Mr. Foster. You’re our friend—mother’s and 
mine—as well as Lawrence’s.” She stopped and shud¬ 
dered. “But you shall not make a joke of what you 
did! What might have happened won’t bear thinking 
of. If you hadn’t come in time!” 

Foster, seeing her emotion, glanced at Mrs. Stephen, 
begging her to interfere, but her strained look indicated 
that her feelings harmonized with the girl’s. Then 
Lawrence interposed with a grin— 

“Jake always does come in time—that’s one of his 
virtues. He’s the kind of man who’s there when he’s 
wanted. I don’t know how he does it, because he’s 
not really clever.” 

“Lawrence,” said Lucy severely, “sometimes you’re 
not as humorous as you think.” 

“Then I hope I’m tactful, because you’re making 
poor Jake feel horribly awkward. I believe he thought 
you wanted to kiss him and was very nearly running 
away.” 

Lucy blushed and Lawrence resumed: “He can’t 
deny it; Jake, you know you would have run away! 
However, I knew what I was doing when I made him 
my partner some time ago. Jake has a romantic im¬ 
agination that now and then leads him into trouble, 
but although it’s perhaps as much luck as genius, when 


RUN DOWN 


313 

he undertakes a thing he puts it over. For example, 
there was the sawmill-” 

Lucy stopped him with a gesture. “We are not go¬ 
ing to talk about the sawmill. It was your—I mean 
our—troubles Jake plunged into, and pluck that can’t 
be daunted is better than genius. But you’re an Eng¬ 
lish Borderer and therefore half a Scot; you hate to 
let people guess your feelings.” 

“Jake kens,” said Lawrence, smiling. “Before very 
long you’ll be a Borderer, too.” 

Lucy’s eyes were very soft as she turned to Foster. 
“Then I must adopt their customs. I think they 
have a motto, ‘Dinna’ forget.’ ” 

To Foster’s relief, the hotel manager came in and 
looked at the two ladies hesitatingly. Neither took 
the hint and Lucy said, rather sharply, “Well?” 

“Mr. Walters has come round and demands to be 
let out of his room. Your man’s there, Mr. Foster, 
and won’t let him move.” 

“Pete’s splendid!” said Lucy. “I haven’t thanked 
him yet. Perhaps you had better go, Lawrence, but 
take Jake.” 

Foster beckoned the manager and when they were 
outside asked: “When do you expect the police ?” 

“Some time to-morrow.” 

“Then we must watch the fellow closely until they 
come.” 

They stopped at a room on the second floor, and 
the manager frowned when he turned the handle of 
the door, which would not open. 

“Wha’s there the noo?” a sharp voice demanded. 

Foster laughed as he answered, the door was opened, 
and they saw Walters, who looked much the worse for 



3H 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


the struggle, lying on a couch, while Pete stood grimly 
on guard. Walters glanced at Foster. 

“You’re something of a surprise,” he said. “We 
didn’t expect much from you.” 

“That’s a mistake other people have made and re¬ 
gretted,” Lawrence remarked. 

“Well,” said Walters, “I demand to be let out.” 

Foster shook his head. “I think not. The room is 
comfortable, and you won’t be here long.” 

“What are you going to do with me?” 

“Hand you to the police.” 

“On what ground?” 

“Attempted murder, to begin with,” said Foster 
dryly. 

Walters turned to the manager. “A man can’t be 
arrested without a warrant. I guess you understand 
you’re making trouble for yourself by permitting these 
fellows to lock me in.” 

“I don’t know if it’s quite legal or not,” Foster ad¬ 
mitted, addressing the manager, who looked irreso¬ 
lute. “Anyhow, you’re not responsible, because we’re 
going to take the matter out of your hands. Besides, 
you haven’t much of a staff just now and couldn’t in¬ 
terfere.” 

“In a way, that’s so,” the manager doubtfully 
agreed. “I don’t want a disturbance in my hotel; I’ve 
had enough.” 

“Very well,” said Walters, seeing he could expect 
no help from him. “But I’m not going to have this 
wooden-faced Scotchman in my room. The fool won’t 
let me move. If you don’t take him away, I’ll break 
the furniture. I can do that, although I’m not able to 
throw the big brute out.” 


RUN DOWN 


315 

Foster walked to the window, which he opened. It 
was some distance from the ground and there was 
nothing that would be a help in climbing down. Be¬ 
sides, Walters did not look capable of trying to escape. 

“We’ll take him away/’ he said, and beckoning 
Pete and the manager, went out. He locked the door 
on the other side and resumed: “Send up a com¬ 
fortable chair, a blanket, and a packet of tobacco. 
If there’s any trouble, you can state that you acted 
on compulsion and we’ll support you, but I rather 
think you can seize and hold a criminal when you 
catch him in the act. Stop here until I relieve you, 
Pete.” 

Pete nodded and the others went to the dining-room. 
After dinner, Foster took his turn on watch, but by 
and by Pete reappeared, holding the page by the arm. 
He signed to Foster, who went down the passage to 
meet him. 

“I thought I’d maybe better tak’ a look roon the 
back o’ the hoose and found the laddie aneath the 
window. He had a bit paper in his hand.” 

Foster told him to watch Walters’ door, and frowned 
at the lad. 

“I reckon you’d sooner keep out of jail.” 

“Sure,” said the lad, with an effort at carelessness; 
“I’m not going to get in.” 

“Well,” said Foster grimly, “you’re taking steep 
chances just now. The police will be here to-morrow 
and there’ll be trouble if they know you tried to help 
their prisoner escape. Where’s the telegram he threw 
you down?” 

“It wasn’t a telegram.” 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


316 

“A letter’s just as bad. The wisest thing you can do 
is to give it me.” 

The lad hesitated, but let him have the crumpled 
envelope. “I was to give it one of the train hands 
when the next freight stops for water.” 

Foster opened the envelope, which was addressed to 
Telford at the mining town. The letter was written 
guardedly, but after studying it with knitted brows he 
thought he understood its purport. 

“How much were you to get for sending this?” he 
asked. 

“Mr. Walters threw me three dollars. I allow I’d 
have to give something to the brakesman.” 

“After all, I don’t see why you shouldn’t deliver the 
thing,” Foster said thoughtfully. “That means you 
can keep the money, but as the brakesman’s not allowed 
to carry letters, he’ll probably want a dollar. Wait 
until I get a new envelope.” 

The boy went off, looking relieved, and Foster re¬ 
turned to his chair at Walters’ door. On the whole, he 
thought he would hear something of the gang on the 
morrow, and if his suspicions were correct, looked 
forward to an interesting meeting. Telford had been 
asked for help, which he would try to send. The west¬ 
bound freight had not passed yet, and if it came soon, 
should reach the mining town early in the morning. 
Foster lighted his pipe, wrapped the blanket round his 
legs, and opened a book he had brought. 

Next day two policemen arrived in a light wagon 
and took Walters away. Lawrence was compelled to 
go with them, and although but little disturbance was 
made, Foster imagined all the occupants of the hotel 
knew about the matter. He had ground for regretting 


RUN DOWN 


3!7 

this, and kept a close watch on the page whose duties 
were light just then, which enabled him to wander 
about the building and see what was going on. He 
expected to hear something when the train from the 
coast arrived, but took care to be about when the 
express from Montreal was due. He had a suspicion 
that Daly had gone up the line. 

The west-bound train came first, and Foster, who 
had sent Pete to the station, sat in the veranda, where 
he could see anybody who entered the hotel. The 
train stopped and went on again, but nobody came up 
the road, and after a time Pete returned. Three pas¬ 
sengers had got down, but they looked like bush ranch¬ 
ers and had taken the trail to a settlement some distance 
off. Pete, however, did not know Daly, and Foster 
was not satisfied. He thought the fellow might have 
bought a cheap skin coat such as the bush ranchers 
wore. Going out, he walked through the wood that 
grew close up to the back of the building. After all, 
Daly might try to find out something from one of the 
servants before coming to the front entrance. 

The sun had sunk behind the range and the light 
was dim among the pines. The air was keen and a 
bitter wind that came down the valley in gusts rustled 
the masses of heavy needles, while the roar of the river 
throbbed among the stately trunks. This was in Fos¬ 
ter’s favor, because he had to make his way between 
fallen branches and through thick undergrowth, and 
wanted to do so without being heard. He was a good 
hunter and bushman, and did not think there was much 
risk of his being seen. 

For a time he heard nothing suspicious and began to 
feel keen disappointment. He had hoped that Walters’ 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


318 

message would bring Daly to his rescue, but it looked 
as if it had not done so. Then, as he stood nearly 
breast-high among dry brush and withered fern, he 
heard a faint noise. Not far off, a narrow trail led 
through the trees to the back of the hotel. Standing 
quite still, he searched the wood with narrowed eyes. 

It was shadowy all around him, but where the trees 
grew farther apart their tall straight trunks cut against 
the glimmer of the snow. The noise had stopped, but 
he could see anybody who crossed the nearest opening, 
and waited, tense and highly-strung. Then he heard 
steps coming from the hotel, and an indistinct object 
emerged from the gloom. It was a man, taking some 
care to move quietly. When he got nearer, Foster, 
knowing there was dark brush behind him, thrust 
his arm into the fern and made it rustle as a gust of 
wind swept the wood. 

The man, who wore an old skin coat, stopped and 
looked round, and Foster saw his face. It was Daly, 
and he seemed uncertain if the wind had made the 
noise or not. After standing motionless for a few 
moments, he took out his watch, and then moved on 
again as softly as he could. 

The meaning of this was plain. Daly had learned 
that Walters had been taken away by the police and 
had concluded that Lawrence meant to fight. As it 
was too late to interfere, he meant to make his escape. 
Foster resolved to prevent this if he could, but Daly 
had the advantage of an open trail, while he was en¬ 
tangled in the brush. He crept out and pushed through 
the wood as fast and silently as possible, but when 
looking for a way round a thicket caught his foot and 
fell among some rotten branches with a crash. He 


RUN DOWN 


319 


got up, growling at the accident, for there was no use 
in following the other after this, although he did not 
feel beaten yet. Daly no doubt hoped to get away 
by the Montreal express, but would hide in the bush 
until the last moment. 

Foster went back to the hotel for Pete, and leaving 
a note for Lawrence, dressed for a journey and took 
the road to the station. On reaching a bend, however, 
he plunged into the wood and made his way to the 
line, beside which he and Pete crept in the gloom of 
the trees, and only came into the open for a few yards 
near the agent’s shack. Here they sat down behind a 
big water tank and Foster felt satisfied. If they had 
reached the station without being noticed, they would 
find Daly when he got on board the train, and if he 
had seen them, they had cut off his best chance of 
escape. 

It was nearly dark and very cold, but Foster was 
glad the train was late. By and by he got up and 
lighted his pipe, though he was careful how he held the 
match. If Daly was hiding near, he did not want the 
fellow to see his face, but the latter would not expect 
anybody who might be on his track to smoke. Strol¬ 
ling carelessly round to the front of the shack, Foster 
opened the door and asked the agent: “Are you going 
to stop the east-bound?” 

“I am,” said the other. “Got a wire to hold her 
up.” 

“Ah,” said Foster. “I expect we can get tickets on 
board, but if you don’t mind, we’ll wait in here. It’s 
freezing pretty fierce.” 

He imagined that Telford or another of the gang 
had sent the telegram, and sat down when Pete came 


320 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


in. He heard the wind among the pines and the hum¬ 
ming of the telegraph wires, but for a time this was all. 
Then a faint throbbing came up the valley and got 
louder until he could distinguish the snorting of a 
locomotive. 

The snorting stopped, a bell began to toll, and with 
lights flashing the cars rolled past the shack. Foster 
waited a moment or two, standing at the window, 
and then as the conductor called “All aboard” saw a 
man run along the line and jump on to the step of 
the end car. Then, beckoning Pete, he dashed out and 
got on board as the train began to move. 

It was with a thrill of triumph he sat down in a 
corner as the cars gathered speed. They would not 
stop for some time and the game was in his hands at 
last. The long chase was ended; he had run Daly 
down. 


XXXI 


DALY SOLVES THE PUZZLE 

r I A HE train was hillside when speeding along the 
-V Foster took Pete with him and walked through 
the rocking cars. As he crossed the platforms between 
them he met an icy wind and saw the dark pines 
stream by. It was obvious that the track was nearly 
level and the train running fast, for dusky woods and 
snowy banks flung back a rapid snorting and a con¬ 
fused roll of wheels. There were not many passengers 
and nobody seemed to notice Foster, until as they en¬ 
tered a car near the end a man raised a newspaper he 
was reading so that it hid his face. As they left the 
car Foster thought he heard a rustle, as if the paper 
had been lowered, but did not look round. The thing 
might have no meaning and he did not want to hint 
that he was suspicious. 

He felt anxious but cool. Daly was the cleverer 
man and the game they must play was intricate, but 
Foster thought he had the better cards. The last 
car was empty except for two women, and leaving 
Pete there, he went through to the smoking compart¬ 
ment at its end. It had only one occupant, who looked 
up as he came in, and he calmly met Daly’s gaze. The 
fellow had his hand in his pocket and his face was 
rather hard, but he did not show surprise or alarm. 

“Well,” he said, “we have been looking for one 
another for a long time and at last have met.” 

321 


322 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Foster sat down opposite. “That’s so. When we 
began, you were looking for me, but since then things 
have, so to speak, been reversed. I’ve followed you 
across England and much of Canada.” 

“I’ve wondered what accounted for your boldness.” 

“It looked as if you knew, but if you don’t, I’m 
going to tell you,” Foster replied. “But I’d sooner 
you took your hand out of your pocket. It would be 
dangerous to use a pistol, because my man’s in the 
car. Then I left a plain statement of all I know and 
surmise about you, with instructions for it to be 
handed to the police if I don’t come back.” 

Daly removed his hand and took out a cigarette. 
“You’re not such a fool as some of my friends thought. 
I suspected this for some time.” 

“We’ll get to business,” Foster rejoined. “I want 
to get it finished, although I don’t think we’ll be dis¬ 
turbed.” 

Daly gave him a keen glance, which Foster did not 
understand then, and the latter resumed: “How did 
you find out enough about Featherstone to enable you 
to blackmail him?” 

“I was secretary to the man he robbed; as a matter 
of fact, I stole one or two of his private papers. I 
don’t know that I meant to use them then, but was 
afterwards in need of money and saw how it could be 
got. The documents prove your partner’s offense.” 

“You began by extorting money, but your last ob¬ 
ject was to suppress the evidence my partner could 
give about the cause of Fred Hulton’s death.” 

“Ah!” said Daly. “I wonder how much you or 
Featherstone know about that. As there are no lis¬ 
teners, we can be frank.” 


DALY SOLVES THE PUZZLE 323 

“Very well. You claim to have documents that 
give you some power over Featherstone; I have others 
that give me power over you. Have you got yours 
here?” 

Daly smiled. “I have not. They’re kept where 
nobody but myself could find them.” 

“I see,” said Foster. “Any money you could ex¬ 
tort from Featherstone was to be your private per¬ 
quisite and not shared with the gang! Well, I’ve 
brought my documents for you to' examine. This is 
a traveler’s circular check for yourself, and this is an 
ordinary bank check for another man. Taken alone, 
they don’t prove very much, but I’ll try to show how 
they link up with other matters.” 

He related how Carmen had given him the packet 
and his adventures in Newcastle, and when he finished 
Daly nodded. 

“On the whole, you don’t argue badly.” 

“I expect a lawyer prosecuting for the Crown would 
argue it better, particularly if I was ready to go into 
the witness-box. Then, of course, there’s Feather- 
stone’s evidence.” 

For a moment Daly looked alarmed, but recovered 
his tranquillity without much effort, and Foster saw 
he had to face his first serious difficulty, though there 
was another. If Daly knew how little Lawrence could 
really tell, it would be hard to deal with him. 

“Something depends on the importance of Feather- 
stone’s evidence.” 

“Your accomplice thought it important, since he 
tried to throw him down the elevator shaft,” Foster 
rejoined. “Anyhow, Featherstone saw the man who 
killed Fred Hulton.” 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


324 

Daly’s smile rather disturbed him. “Then it’s 
strange he said nothing about it at the inquiry, and 
when he was in the factory passage spoke to the man 
he saw as if he was the night guard.” 

“That’s so. You probably know more about the 
methods of the police than I do, but I understand they 
now and then keep something back, with an object. 
Then Featherstone is not a fool. He was satisfied to 
answer the questions he was asked. You mustn’t take 
it for granted he didn’t know the man was a stranger.” 

There was silence for some moments while Daly 
pondered this, although Foster imagined he had care¬ 
fully weighed the thing before. Then he asked ab¬ 
ruptly: “Did your partner think he saw me?” 

“No,” said Foster, who resolved to tell the truth. 

Somewhat to his surprise, Daly made a sign of 
acquiescence. “Very well! You are near the mark, 
and I’ll tell you what happened. There’s not much 
risk in this, because no judge would admit as evi¬ 
dence something you declared you had been told. Be¬ 
sides, I’ll own that it’s an unlikely tale. I was not at 
or near the factory that night, but I had done some 
business with Fred Hulton. The lad was a gambler 
and I’d lent him money; as a matter of fact, I never 
got it all back. However, a man who now and then 
acted as my agent learned something about the customs 
of the factory and went there the night he met Feath¬ 
erstone. But he did not shoot Fred Hulton.” 

“Then how was the lad killed ?” 

“He shot himself; in a way, by accident.” 

Foster looked at Daly with ironical surprise. “Your 
friends deal too much in accidents! It was by an acci¬ 
dent Walters left Featherstone on the snow couloir 


DALY SOLVES THE PUZZLE 325 

“It doesn’t matter if you disbelieve me; this is what 
happened,” Daly rejoined. “My friend—we’ll call 
him the man—went to the office late in the evening 
and after some talk, covered Hulton with his pistol. 
The lad had had some trouble about his debts, because 
the old man would have fired him out of the business if 
he’d heard of them, and his nerve wasn’t good. He 
opened the safe when he was told and the man took 
the bonds and went out of the office, leaving Hulton 
in his chair. We don’t know what the lad thought, 
but perhaps he saw he would be suspected or was 
ashamed of not showing more grit. Anyhow, when 
the man was on the stairs Hulton came up behind and 
told him to stop. He had a pistol, but looked strained 
and nervous, and the other, who had put his away, 
made a rush at him. Hulton slipped on the steps, his 
pistol went off, and when he rolled to the bottom the 
other saw he was dead.” 

Foster was silent for a time. The story was, on the 
whole, plausible, and although he did not see why 
Daly had told it him, he thought he spoke the truth. 
So far he had been clearing the ground and had not 
reached his object yet, but Daly showed no inclination 
to hurry him. They were not likely to be disturbed, 
and although the rocking of the car and throb of 
wheels indicated that the train was running fast, the 
next station was some distance ahead. There was 
moonlight outside and he saw towering rocks and 
masses of dark trees roll past. 

“Well,” he remarked, “you have had a strange ca¬ 
reer. Leading a gang of swindlers must have been a 
change from helping a philanthropist.” 

Daly smiled rather grimly. “For a long time I 


I 


326 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

served a strange man. Philanthropy loses its charm 
when it becomes a business and results are demanded 
from all the money given. Then my pay was arranged 
on the surmise that to be engaged in such an occupa¬ 
tion was reward enough, and something must be al¬ 
lowed for the natural reaction. As a matter of fact, 
I’m not surprised that Featherstone robbed my em¬ 
ployer. He deserved it; but I think we can let that 
g°” 

Foster nodded and was silent. Perhaps it was be¬ 
cause the excitement of the chase was over, but he 
felt dull and tired. He had no sympathy with Daly; 
the fellow was a rogue, but he had pluck and charm. 
In a sense, it was unnatural that they should be talking 
quietly and almost confidentially, but he did not feel 
the anger he had expected and his antagonist was 
calm. Still, he was none the less dangerous and would 
use any advantage that he could gain. 

“Now you had better tell me exactly what you 
want,” Daly resumed. 

“I want you to leave my partner alone.” 

“Would you be satisfied with my promise?” 

“No,” said Foster; “not without some guarantee.” 

“Then we must make a bargain. I’m able, if I 
think it worth while, to give you what you ask. None 
of my confederates know anything about Feather- 
stone’s history; this ought to be obvious if you claim 
that Walters meant to kill him. Very well; I can, so 
to speak, bury an unfortunate error of his so that it 
will never trouble him again. That’s much. What 
have you to offer?” 

Foster was now confronted with the difficulty he 
dreaded most, but he tried to be firm. 


DALY SOLVES THE PUZZLE 327 

“I don’t know that I need make an offer. I think 
I’m able to dictate terms.” 

“Are you?” Daly asked with an ironical smile. 
“Well, suppose you had me arrested? My defense 
would be to discredit your partner’s evidence. My 
lawyer would prove that Featherstone was my enemy 
and had a motive for revenge, by admitting that I had 
demanded money from him and would tell the court on 
what grounds. You must see the danger in which 
you’d put your friend.” 

Foster saw it; indeed, he had seen it since he began 
the chase. He must silence Daly, but the fellow was a 
criminal and he could not bring himself to promise him 
immunity from the punishment he deserved. Yet 
nothing less would satisfy the man. It looked as if 
he must deny his duty as a citizen if he meant to save 
his friend. This was the problem, and there was ap¬ 
parently no solution. Daly, who understood it, 
watched him with dry amusement. 

“Well,” resumed the latter, “I’ll make a proposi¬ 
tion. To begin with, we’ll exchange documents; the 
checks against the papers that compromise Feather- 
stone.” 

“Which you haven’t brought!” 

“Just so,” said Daly. “If we both engage to make 
no use of the documents we hold, they can be ex¬ 
changed at some convenient time.” 

“That means I must put the police off your track 
and meet you again.” 

“Exactly; you have no choice. Besides, Feather- 
stone must promise to keep back anything he knows 
and you to say nothing about your meeting with 
Graham.” 


328 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

“I can’t agree,” Foster replied. 

‘Then I’m afraid your partner must take the conse¬ 
quences.” 

Foster pondered. Daly looked determined, and, 
knowing his friendship for Lawrence, meant to trade 
on it, but Foster must try to persuade him that he 
counted too much on this. The fellow played a clever 
game, but it was nearly finished and Foster thought 
he still held a trump. 

“We had better ascertain to whom the consequences 
would be worse,” he said. “Featherstone risks a 
stained name, his relations’ distress, and the loss of 
friends. We’ll admit it, but these things can be lived 
down. You risk being tried for murder and certainly 
for a serious robbery. There’s evidence enough to 
convict you of a share in the latter.” 

“That is so,” Daly agreed with unbroken calm. 
“I’m surprised you don’t see that it strengthens my 
demand. It’s obvious that you must help me to avoid 
the trial, or leave me to defend myself by doing as 
much damage as possible. There’s no other way.” 

Foster thought there was, so to speak, a middle way 
between the two, but it was hateful to indicate, and 
while he hesitated the car lurched as the train ran 
out upon a bridge. The door swung open and Daly’s 
face got suddenly hard. A passenger from another 
part of the train had entered the car and was looking 
into the smoking compartment. It was the man Fos¬ 
ter had seen at the hotel. Next moment Daly was on 
his feet and springing across the narrow floor turned 
to Foster with a pistol in his hand. 

“Blast you!” he said hoarsely. “You fixed this. 
I thought you were straight!” 


DALY SOLVES THE PUZZLE 329 

Foster understood the situation. The man in the 
next car was Hulton’s detective or a police official who 
had known that Daly was on the train, and feeling 
sure of him, had resolved to watch them both. He 
had probably a companion, and Daly knew the game 
was up. The latter’s voice had warned Foster that 
he was desperate. Escape was impossible; he meant 
to fight, and, suspecting Foster of treachery, would 
shoot him first. This flashed upon Foster in a second, 
and as Daly, still facing him, opened the vestibule 
door, he risked a shot and sprang forward. 

He heard the pistol explode and his face felt 
scorched, but he struck savagely, and something rattled 
upon the floor. The pistol had dropped and he was 
somewhat surprised to feel himself unhurt as he grap¬ 
pled with Daly. They reeled through the door and 
fell against the rails of the platform. Then he got a 
heavy blow and his grasp slackened. Somebody ran 
through the smoking compartment, and while he tried 
to collect his senses Daly stepped back to the gap in 
the rails. Foster was dizzy, but he saw the man’s dark 
figure against the moonlight. There was a glimmer 
of snow in the gloom beneath, and a confused din; 
the roar of wheels and a rattle from the bridge. Then 
Pete sprang across the platform, passing in front of 
Foster, and when the latter saw the gap again Daly 
had gone. 

Pete leaned against the back of the car, breathing 
hard and holding a piece of torn silk. 

“I was aboot a second ower lang,” he gasped. “He 
just stepped back and left this in my han’.” 

Foster, crossing the platform shakily, grasped the 
rail and looked down. There were rocks and small 


330 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


trees immediately beneath him, but farther back a 
level white belt indicated a frozen river covered by thin 
snow. In the middle of this was a dark riband of 
water where the stream had kept an open channel 
through the ice. The bridge was one of the long, 
Wooden trestles, flung across rivers and narrow valleys, 
that are now being replaced by embankments and 
iron structures. Since the frame, as usual, was open 
and just wide enough to carry the metals, there was 
nothing to save anybody who fell off the cars from a 
plunge to the bottom. Foster thought Daly knew 
this when he stepped off the platform. Looking back 
along the curve of the bridge, he imagined that the 
thing had happened when they were crossing the 
unfrozen part of the stream. He shivered and then 
glanced round as a man who had followed Pete closely 
took the object the latter held. 

“His necktie,” he remarked. “If it had been 
stronger, we’d have had him in handcuffs now.” 

“Weel,” said Pete dryly, “it’s no certain I wouldna’ 
ha’ gone ower the brig wi’ him.” 

There was a hoarseness in their voices that hinted 
at strain, but the man, ordering Foster not to leave the 
car, hurried away, and soon afterwards the train 
slackened speed. Then he came back with another 
man, and telling Foster and Pete to follow him, got 
down upon the line. Curious passengers were alight¬ 
ing and asking questions, but the leader did not object 
when several followed the party. They had to walk 
some distance, and when they reached the end of the 
trestle it was difficult to get down the rocky bank. 

The bottom of the hollow was roughly level, but 
part was covered with small, stunted trees, many of 


DALY SOLVES THE PUZZLE 331 

which had been uprooted and had fallen across each 
other. In the open spaces, rocks and boulders rose 
out of an inch or two of snow. It was plain that there 
was no chance of Daly’s alighting uninjured there. 
One of the men had brought a train-hand’s lantern, 
and they followed the curve of the trestle, which rose, 
black and ominously high, against the moonlight. 
It was not very dark among the trees and the beam 
of the lantern flickered across the rocks and fallen 
trunks, but they found nothing, and presently came 
to the ice, where the light was not needed. 

Nothing broke the smooth white surface, and the 
party stopped at the edge of the water, which looked 
black and sullen as it rolled past, streaked by lines of 
foam. There was a belt of ice on the other side, but 
it was bare. 

“Must have gone plumb into the river/’ said one. 
“We’d see him if he’d come down where it’s frozen.” 

“Unless he was able to crawl up the bank,” some¬ 
body suggested. 

“I guess that’s impossible,” another replied, scrap¬ 
ing the snow away with his boot. “See here, it’s 
hardly two inches deep; nothing to soften the blow. 
Besides, anybody falling through the trestle would 
strike some of the cross-braces or stringers.” 

The man who had brought Foster touched his com¬ 
panion. “Nothing doing here. We’ll stop at Green 
Rock and you can raise a posse of ranchers and look 
round to-morrow. I reckon you won’t find anything.” 

They went back and when the train started the man 
sat down opposite Foster in the smoking compartment. 

“We’ll probably want your evidence,” he said. 
“What’s your address?” 


332 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


Foster noted that he did not ask his name. “Per¬ 
haps the Hulton Manufacturing Company, Gardner’s 
Crossing, would be best. I’m going there now.” 

The man nodded meaningly. “That will satisfy me. 
On the whole, it’s lucky the fellow shot at you and 
Hulton told us how you stood. He didn’t miss by 
much; there’s burnt powder sticking to your cheek.” 


XXXII 


FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES 

A | A HREE days afterwards, Foster entered the office 
-*• of the Hulton Company, where the head and 
treasurer of the firm waited him. It was late in the 
evening when he arrived, but the private office was 
filled with the softened throb of machinery and rumble 
of heavy wheels. Otherwise it was very quiet and 
cut off by a long passage from the activity of the mill. 

Hulton gave him his hand and indicated a chair. 
“You have got thinner since you took your holiday 
and look fined down. Well, I reckon we all feel older 
since that night last fall. ,, 

“I do,” said Foster, and added: “The mill seems 
to be running hard.” 

“She’s going full blast. We’ve had plans for exten¬ 
sion standing over until I could give my mind to them. 
I may be able to do so soon, and expect to consult 
you and Featherstone. In the meantime, I got your 
telegram and another that to some extent put me wise. 
But I want a full account, beginning when you left.” 

Foster told his story, and when he stopped, Hulton 
pondered for a minute or two. He somehow looked 
more human than on Foster’s last visit; his stern vin¬ 
dictiveness was not so obvious, but Foster thought he 
would demand full retribution. Then he said— 

“You are keeping something back; I reckon you 
333 


334 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


haven’t taken these chances on my account. There’s 
something behind all this that concerns you—or your 
partner—alone. Well, I guess that’s not my business.” 

He paused and resumed in a curt, businesslike man¬ 
ner: “Daly’s tale is plausible and may be true, but I 
have my doubts. Anyhow, I’m not going to believe it 
because that doesn’t suit my plans. We’ll have Walters 
tried for murder.” 

“Although you admit he may be innocent!” ex¬ 
claimed Foster. “It ought to be enough to charge him 
with trying to kill Featherstone and stealing your 
bonds. You have no evidence to convict him of the 
other crime.” 

Hulton smiled. “I don’t care two bits if he’s con¬ 
victed or not. I want to clear my boy’s name and put 
you into the witness-box.” 

“But you can’t make me adapt my story to fit your 
charge, and the defending lawyer would object to 
Daly’s account as hearsay and not evidence. The 
judge would rule it out.” 

“I guess so,” Hulton agreed. “For all that, it 
would have some effect, and the judge couldn’t rule 
it out before it was heard.” He knitted his brows and 
looked hard at Foster. “I’m going to prove that Fred 
was robbed and was not the thief, and though I don’t 
think Walters will be convicted, he must take his 
chance. He was one of the gang that caused my son’s 
death, and when he tried to kill your partner knew 
what he was up against.” 

Foster thought this was frontier justice and urged 
another objection. 

“After all, the matter’s in the hands of the police. 
You can’t dictate the line they ought to take.” 


FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES 335 

Percival, the treasurer, smiled, and Hulton answered 
with some dryness: “That’s true, in a way. But I 
have some influence, which will be used for all it’s 
worth. Anyhow, I’ve got to be consulted. If it 
hadn’t been for my agents, the police wouldn’t have 
made much progress yet. However, we’ll let this go. 
It may interest you to know that Daly’s gone for good. 
Read him the night letter, Percival.” 

It is usual in Canada to allow lengthy telegrams, 
called night letters, to be sent at a very moderate 
charge when the lines are disengaged after business 
hours, and the treasurer picked up a form. The mes¬ 
sage related the careful search for Daly’s body, which 
had not been found. The snow for some distance on 
both sides of the river was undisturbed; there was no 
sign that an injured man had crawled away, and if 
this were not enough, no stranger had reached any of 
the scattered ranches where he must have gone for 
food. Daly would not be found until the ice broke up. 

“I expect you’re glad the fellow can’t be brought to 
trial,” Hulton remarked, looking hard at Foster. 

“I am,” said Foster quietly. 

Hulton made a sign of understanding and there was 
faint amusement in his eyes. 

“Well, you have a good partner. I like Feather- 
stone; he’s a live, straight man, and if he had trouble 
in England, has made good here. But he has his lim¬ 
its ; I reckon you’ll go further than he will.” 

“No,” said Foster. “I don’t think you’re right, but 
if you are, I’ll take my partner along with me, or stay 
behind with him.” 

“What are you going to do now?” Percival asked. 


336 CARMEN’S MESSENGER 

“Stop at the Crossing and see about starting the 
mill.” 

Hulton nodded. “I guess that’s the best thing. 
When you have got her started, come and see what we 
want. I think that’s all in the meantime.” 

Foster left them and ‘began work next day. He 
wrote to Lawrence telling him of his plans, but got no 
answer for a week, when a telegram arrived. 

“Come out if you can leave the mill. You’re wanted 
here,” it ran. 

Foster was puzzled, because he thought the summons 
would have come from Lucy if Lawrence was ill. Yet 
the latter knew he was occupied and ought not have 
sent for him unless he was needed. On the whole, he 
felt annoyed. Lawrence, who was sometimes careless, 
should have told him why he was required, and he 
could not conveniently leave the mill. 

Since he had found his partner, he had realized how 
wide, in a social sense, was the difference between 
Alice Featherstone and a small Canadian lumber dealer, 
and had, with characteristic determination, resolved 
to bridge the gap. This meant bold planning and 
strenuous effort, but he shrank from neither and 
meant his partner to help. Lawrence, although reso¬ 
lute enough when things went against them, sometimes 
got slack when they were going well, and Foster un¬ 
derstood thqt Lucy Stephen had money. For all that, 
if Lawrence was unwilling to keep pace with him, he 
must be dragged. Foster frowned as he put off mat¬ 
ters that needed prompt attention until his return, and 
then sent a telegram and caught the next west-bound 
train. 

When he got down at the flag station his annoyance 


FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES 337 

returned. If there was any ground for his being sent 
for, he ought to have been told, and if there was not, 
he had been caused a loss of time that could have been 
well employed. He resolved to tell Lawrence his 
views upon this as he took the road to the hotel, but 
stopped with a beating heart when he entered the 
veranda. 

Lawrence lounged negligently in a big chair and 
greeted him with a smile, but his father, Mrs. Feather- 
stone, and Alice sat close by, with Mrs. Stephen and 
Lucy in the background. It cost Foster something 
of an effort to preserve his calm, but he advanced to 
Mrs. Featherstone, who gave him a look of quiet 
gratitude that repaid him for much. Featherstone 
welcomed him heartily, but with a touch of embarrass¬ 
ment, and then Foster thrilled as Alice gave him her 
hand. There was a curious quiet confidence in her 
level glance, as if she meant that she had known his 
promise would be kept. He did not remember what 
he said to Mrs. Stephen and Lucy, but was grateful to 
Lawrence, who laughed. 

“I imagined you’d get something of a surprise, 
Jake. In fact, when the train stopped I pictured you 
coming up the road as fast as you could, divided be¬ 
tween anxiety and a determination to tell me what you 
thought. Before that, when I got your curt telegram, 
I told Alice I could see you frowning as you filled up 
the form.” 

“I didn’t know Miss Featherstone was here,” Fos¬ 
ter replied awkwardly. 

“That’s obvious,” Lawrence said, chuckling. “Can¬ 
dor’s one of your virtues. But what about the rest 
of us?” 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


338 

Foster wished he had been more tactful and thought 
his comrade’s amusement might better have been re¬ 
strained ; but Lawrence resumed: “It must have been 
annoying to leave the mill when you had much to do. 
The curious thing is that when you set off from the 
Crossing with me you declared you were tired of 
working for dollars.” 

“Mr. Foster’s tiredness didn’t prevent him from 
working for his friends,” Alice interposed. 

“He must work, anyhow; that’s the kind of man 
he is, and I don’t suppose he was much disappointed 
when he got a strenuous holiday.” 

Then Featherstone turned to Foster. “I imagine 
we both dislike formal speeches and Lawrence, know¬ 
ing this, means to smooth over our meeting. For all 
that, there’s something to be said, and now, when the 
others are here, is the proper time. When we got your 
telegram in England I was overwhelmed by gratitude 
and regret. I saw, in fact, what a fool I had been.” 
He paused with a gleam of amusement in his embar¬ 
rassment. “Indeed, I’m not sure that the recognition 
of my folly wasn’t the stronger feeling. Now I’m 
half-ashamed to apologize for my ridiculous suspicions 

and must ask you to forget all about them if you 

_„ ?> 

can. 

“They were very natural suspicions, sir. I couldn’t 
logically blame you and honestly don’t think I did.” 

“Well,” said Featherstone, “it’s some comfort to 
reflect that my wife and daughter knew you better. 
I’m glad to think you’re generous, because there is no 
amend I can make commensurate with the service you 
have done us.” 

“In one sense, it was an excellent joke,” Lawrence 


FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES 339 

remarked. “While Jake was lurking in the bogs and 
putting up with much unpleasantness on my account, 
he was suspected of making away with me for the 
sake of an old traveling bag, which was all he could 
have got. But don’t you think, sir, there was some¬ 
thing characteristic about his telegram? I mean the 
brief statement of his success.” 

“My relief was so great that I did not criticize the 
wording, which I’m not sure I remember,” Feather- 
stone replied. 

Lawrence glanced at his mother. “I expect you re¬ 
member it.” 

Mrs. Featherstone said nothing, but gave him a gen¬ 
tle, understanding smile. 

Then Featherstone made Foster relate his last 
meeting with Daly on the train. Foster had no wish 
to harrow the listeners’ feelings, but his memory was 
strangely vivid and he pictured the scene with uncon¬ 
scious dramatic power. They saw it all, as he had seen 
it; the background of flitting trees and glimmering 
snow, the struggle on the rocking platform, while the 
icy wind screamed past the car, and the dark figure 
filling, for a moment, the gap in the rails. Then they 
felt his thrill of horror when the gap was empty and 
Pete held up the torn necktie. Foster concluded with 
Pete’s terse statement, “He just stepped back.” 

“Into the dark!” said Alice softly and there was 
silence for the next few moments. 

“He made us suffer,” Featherstone remarked. 
“But he had pluck and boldly took the best way. It 
is not for us to judge him now.” 

Then Lawrence leaned forward with a flushed face. 
“In the beginning, I made you suffer, and it might 


340 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


have been better if I had openly paid for my fault. 
We’ll let that go; but there’s something yet to be said.” 
He stopped and looked at the others with badly sup¬ 
pressed emotion. “That I have escaped a fate like 
Daly’s is due to the love and trust that was given me 
in spite of my offense, and my partner’s unselfish loy¬ 
alty.” 

Mrs. Featherstone looked at him with gentle ap¬ 
proval and her husband said, “Lawrence has taken a 
very proper line; but I think this matter need not be 
spoken of again.” 

It was a relief to talk about something else, and by 
and by the party broke up. An hour or two later, 
Foster, who wanted to send his foreman some instruc¬ 
tions, met Lucy in a passage as he was going to the 
writing-room. She stopped him and said, “I haven’t 
thanked you, Jake; you were careful not to give me 
an opportunity, but you have banished a haunting fear 
I couldn’t get rid of. You know what I mean—Law¬ 
rence told me his story. Now he is safe.” 

She stopped Foster, who began to murmur some¬ 
thing. “This is not all I want to say. I am not the 
only person who loves Lawrence and owes you much. 
Don’t be too modest; urge your claim.” 

Foster would not pretend he did not understand and 
looked at her steadily. “If I made a claim on such 
grounds, I should deserve to have it refused.” 

“Then choose better grounds, Jake; I think they 
can be found,” Lucy answered with a smile. “But 
show what you want. You can’t expect to have it 
offered, for you to pick up.” 

She went away, leaving him in a thoughtful mood, 
though his heart beat. Lucy was clever and would 


I 


FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES 341 

not have given him such a hint unless she thought it 
was justified. Still, she might be mistaken and he 
feared to risk too much; then there were other diffi¬ 
culties—he was not rich. He went to the writing- 
room, knitting his brows, and stopped abruptly when 
he found Alice there alone. She put aside a half- 
finished letter, as if she did not want him to go away, 
and he advanced to the table and stood looking down 
at her. 

“I did not send the telegram stating that I had found 
Lawrence.” 

"No,” she said, smiling, “I know you didn’t. But 
why do you wish to explain this ?” 

Foster hesitated. “To begin with, it must have 
looked as if I wanted to boast about keeping my prom¬ 
ise and hint that you owed me something.” 

“But you were glad you were able to keep your 
promise ?” 

“I was,” said Foster; “very glad, indeed.” 

Alice gave him a quick glance that thrilled him 
strangely. “So Lawrence said for you what you 
would have liked to say yourself? One would imagine 
he knew your feelings.” 

“Yes,” said Foster steadily, “I didn’t tell him, but 
I think he did know.” 

He stopped and Alice looked down at the table for a 
moment. Then she looked up again and met his fixed 
gaze. 

“After all, you would have liked to have my grati¬ 
tude?” 

There was something in her face that stirred his 
blood, and forgetting his drawbacks he made a reckless 
plunge. 


342 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


“I wanted it tremendously, but it wasn’t enough.” 

“Not enough! Aren’t you rather hard to satisfy?” 
she asked with a hint of pride that deceived but did 
not stop him. 

“I’m afraid I’m very rash,” he answered quietly. 
“You see, I wanted your love; I wanted you. But I 
was afraid to ask.” 

She looked at him in a way he did not understand, 
although her manner enforced a curious restraint. 

“Now I wonder why?” 

“You’re so beautiful! I durstn’t hope you’d come 
down to my level. I’d nothing to offer.” 

“You have unselfishness, loyalty, and unflinching 
steadfastness. Are these nothing?” 

Foster felt embarrassed, but the sense of restraint 
was stronger. Alice had somehow imposed it and he 
must wait until she took it away. He thought she 
wanted him to finish. 

“Then I knew my disadvantages. In many ways, 
Canada is a hard country, and I’m poor.” 

“Did you think that would count for very much? 
We are not rich at the Garth.” 

“I seemed to know that if by any chance you loved 
me, you would not flinch. But there were other things; 
your upbringing and traditions. I couldn’t hope your 
parents would agree.” 

Then Alice got up with a quiet grace he thought 
stately and stood facing him. There was a strange 
new softness in her eyes that had yet a hint of pride. 

“I don’t think I am undutiful, but it is my right 
to choose my husband for myself.” She paused and his 
heart beat fast as he waited until she resumed: “The 
evening I came to the orchard I had chosen you.” 


FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES 343 

He held out his hands with a low cry of triumph 
and she came to him. 

Next morning Foster saw Feather stone, who lis¬ 
tened without surprise, and then remarked: “It would 
perhaps have been better if you had come to me before 
the matter went so far; but I can’t lay much stress 
on this. The times are changing.” 

“I couldn’t, sir. You see, until last night-” 

Featherstone nodded. “Yes, of course! But all 
that’s done with. I can’t understand how the absurd 
notion came into my mind.” 

“Things did look suspicious,” said Foster, smiling. 

“Well,” resumed Featherstone, “except for that 
ridiculous interval, I liked you from the beginning, as 
did my wife. Besides, it would be very hard for 
either of us to refuse you anything, and if Alice is 

satisfied- But there’s another consideration; I 

understand from Lawrence that your business is not 
large, and although Miss Stephen wants him to extend 
it, this won’t augment your share. Well, you under¬ 
stand why I must ask you to w T ait a year, until we 
see how you get on.” 

Foster, having succeeded better than he expected, 
thanked him and agreed, and a few days later returned 
to the Crossing. The Featherstones were coming to 
stay there for a time, and business demanded his atten¬ 
tion. He had long worked hard, but had now an ob¬ 
ject that spurred him to almost savage activity. He 
resented the loss of time when Walters was brought to 
trial and he had to attend the court. The man was 
sentenced for robbery, and Foster’s evidence, although 
objected to by the defense, sufficed to prove that Fred 
Hulton had no complicity in the theft. 




344 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


A few weeks later, when Featherstone and his fam¬ 
ily were at the Crossing, Hulton sent for Foster. 

“I suppose you won’t want to sell the mill?” he 
asked. 

“No,” said Foster. “Business looks like booming 
and our chances are pretty good.” 

Hulton made a sign of agreement. “That’s so. I 
reckon you could do a bigger trade than you have the 
money to handle. However, I guess you and Feather- 
stone mean to continue the partnership ?” 

“Yes,” said Foster, quietly, “we stick together.” 

“Although he is going to marry a lady who will 
invest some money in the business ? If your friendship 
stands that test, it must be pretty sound. But I’d 
better state why I sent for you. Our trade is growing 
fast, and there’s a risk of our running short of half- 
worked material. Well, if you won’t sell your mill, 
you must enlarge it on a scale that will enable you to 
keep us going, besides coping with your other orders. 
I’m open to supply the capital, and have thought out a 
rough proposition. Give him the paper, Percival.” 

The treasurer did so, and Foster studied the terms 
with keen satisfaction. 

“If there’s anything you don’t agree to, you can 
indicate it,” Hulton remarked. 

Foster hesitated. “It’s a very fair and liberal offer. 
But I wouldn’t like to take it, so to speak, as a reward. 
You see, I didn’t-” 

“Expect anything from me,” Hulton suggested with 
dry amusement. “You were acting for Featherstone, 
but were willing to do me a favor! Anyhow, you 
can regard the thing as a plain business proposition. 
I get a number of advantages, besides good interest.” 



FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES 345 

“Then I'll accept the main terms now, because I can 
promise for Featherstone, ,, Foster replied. “If any 
alteration’s needed, we can talk about it afterwards.” 

He left the office with a thrill of satisfaction. With 
Hulton’s help, he and Lawrence could extend their 
operations and control a very profitable trade. Feath- 
erstone had told him he must wait a year, but by this 
stroke of luck he had made good when only a month 
had gone. Still, it was characteristic that he finished 
his day’s work before he went to the hotel where the 
others were staying. 

Featherstone frankly expressed his pleasure at the 
news, and afterwards Foster and Alice went out and 
stopped at the bridge on the outskirts of the town. 
There was a moon in the clear sky and the night was 
calm. The snow was crisp, but patches of uncovered 
wood showed where it had melted off the bridge, and 
the southern slope of the river bank was nearly bare. 
In the stream, fissured ice drifted down a wide, dark 
channel; one felt that spring was coming. 

Behind the town, somber pines rolled back across 
the rocky wilderness; in the foreground, dazzling arc- 
lamps flung their blue reflections on the ice, and the 
lights of the Hulton factory ran far up in gleaming 
rows. Civilization had reached the spot and stopped 
for a time. The scene held harsh contrasts between 
man’s noisy activities and the silent austerity of the 
wilds. 

“It’s a grim country,” Foster said. “But one gets 
fond of it.” 

Alice put her hand in his. “I think I shall love it ; 
I’m not afraid, Jake. There’s something in the clear 
air and sunshine that makes one brave. Then it’s 


CARMEN’S MESSENGER 


346 

virgin country; waiting for you and the others to make 
good use of.” 

Foster nodded. “Something of a responsibility! 
Our efforts are crude yet and the signs of our progress 
far from beautiful, but we’ll do better by and by. 
Well, I’m glad you’re not daunted, though I don’t 
think I really feared that.” He paused for a moment 
with a smile of deep content. “To-day has banished 
my last anxiety; I’m a wonderfully lucky man!” 

“Not altogether lucky, Jake, I think. Character 
counts for more than fortune, and you really won suc¬ 
cess by the stubbornness you showed in the Border 
bogs. It would have come sooner or later, if you 
hadn’t met Hulton.” 

“I’m doubtful,” Foster answered. “What I meant 
to win was you; but in a way, that’s wrong. If you 
hadn’t given yourself to me, it would have been im¬ 
possible. Well, it has been a day of triumph, and 
now, if you are willing, we needn’t wait very long.” 

Alice blushed and looked up with a shy smile. 
“When you want me, Jake, I will be ready.” 


THE END 













/ 









































i 



















































































































































































































































































































* 















































